


One Shots

by artispain



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King, Predator Original Series (1987-1990)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Dubious Consent, Femdom, Fluff, Multi, Pegging, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-01-06 08:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21223253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artispain/pseuds/artispain
Summary: More Tumblr stuff





	1. Chapter 1

She focuses on the ripples on the opaque water below her. The moonlight glimmers upon the surface of the quarry, making it appear as flashing liquid obsidian. COLD and fierce and black as her heart. Empty of life or meaning.   
She stands upon the cliff face, the icy winter wind making her hair brush upon her cheeks and lips in a chill imitation of affection. The irony is not lost on her. The porcelain rays of the moon give her face a chalky cadaver like appearance.   
Her heart feels so heavy that it might fall out of her chest. The trail of her tears appears crystalline and the cold bites into these trails with a keen sharp edge.   
Listlessly, she lifts a thumb to brush a tear. Then ponders the droplet, watching it sparkle, before removing her jacket. She WANTS to feel colder. She doesn’t know why. Doesn’t question. Only knows that feeling the wind skim painfully along her skin thru her thin shirt feels better than the heavy hungry hole inside her chest which masquerades as a heart. The pain of it feels like LIFE. Something that has developed the taste of ashes recently. Dull. Pointless.  
What is the point? Does it have any meaning? Or is this just some blind and pathless blip in the insectile and machine like operations of this world.  
She hears the tinkling of tiny bells behind her. There is someone else here. Her mind conjures the image of someone behind her lifting a foot to kick her over the cliff face. To send her plunging to the icy blackness which ripples below her, waiting like a hungry beast to embrace her in numbing womb like comfort. And whispers the sweet promise of simply not having to CARE anymore.   
Closing her eyes and raising her head, she spreads her arms. She revels in the tactile sensations of the cold breeze burning her wet lashes and fluttering her sleeves as if she were a floating snowflake. She does not have the will to jump. Yet she has no intention of screaming if she is pushed.  
Behind Her, golden eyes watch this movement. Nostrils set in a blood red nose flare to catch the scent of her emptiness. She smells of the quarry. She smells of its cold rocky depths. The scent of her skin and blood and heart blend with the commercial scent of her clothes and mix with the moving air to create the impression of a barren lake suspended in the sky over a dead city. This creature is the most lifeless and cold living thing It has ever scented.   
It cocks It’s head in bland curiosity. Then purposefully presses It’s boot to crunch into the frosty grass, tilting It’s head to listen to her thoughts.  
She is annoyed at having her loneliness interrupted. Hopes It might end her. And yet her withered spirit cries out for some sort of comfort she would never allow herself to accept anyway.  
It has never tasted the scent of one who would wish for their own end. And the taste of it does not spike It’s hunger now. This emptiness leaves a dry and papery taste upon It’s salivary glands. Utterly flavorless. She is not even sad. As if she exists in a reality far beyond sadness. It takes another step forward. And still she does not turn.  
“Just fucking do it already.” Her voice cracks out as her chilled teeth click on the consonants. Yet neither of them are startled by the break in the lonely song of the wind on the water. The interruption is momentary as the sound continues. As if the ghost of an orphaned wolf bounds upon the quarry, lending it’s haunted lilting voice to the sky.   
“And what would you have me do, child?” It’s voice is cracked and yet childlike. The voice of a frozen cherubim.   
“I don’t fucking know. Whatever you’re going to do.” It drops to crouch on one knee as she huffs and finally turns, eyes widening at the vision before her.   
It’s a clown. The strangest clown she’s ever seen. It’s silver suit shifts with the wind like fur. The edge of It’s ornate neck ruff billows up to tickle It's lips, which appear black in the muted light. Tiny bells on It’s suit ring out and blend in an oddly beautiful way with the crying wind. It’s ginger hair is perfectly coifed and yet still sways in small movements with the air, the curl on the top occasionally brushing the wide expanse of It’s cracked forehead.   
It’s face is skull like. Ice white. It’s eyes glow gold, illuminating the darkness around It’s face, and are set in 2 black rimmed sockets. It’s expression is blank and statue like. Crouched like this, It appears very much like a predator waiting to spring. But waiting for what?  
“Why are you here?” she asks caustically.  
“Why are you here?” It repeats her question. Tho It’s tone is surprisingly gentle compared to It’s appearance. It tilts It’s head. It is curious.   
“Oh I don’t know.” She huffs again, turns back around, and sits directly on the cliff face, her shoes dangling over the void. It watches the bones of her vertebrae press into her shirt as she shivers. She wraps her arms around herself.  
It is instantly by her side, sitting as she, It’s own long legs dangling below hers. So swift and silent that this time she DOES gasp. It turns It’s face to gaze at her, one eye focused on her face and the other gazing out at the lake.  
“You’re not scary. I mean….. A clown? It doesn’t even make sense.”  
It’s mouth splits into a grin as It kicks It’s feet back and forth, the bells tinkle in a merry rhythm. “Sometimes the most scary things are the things that don’t make sense.”  
Her chest constricts painfully as if not used to the humor she feels at this statement. “You can say THAT again.” She frowns.  
It’s eyes widen in confusion but It concedes to humor her. “Sometimes the most scary things are the things that don’t make sense. Did I speak unclearly?”  
This time she cannot help the small laugh. She presses a hand to her sternum in a physical reaction to the pain the unwanted emotion of humor causes here.  
“No. You didn’t. I heard you. So…… who are you?”  
“I’m Pennywise. The Dancing Clown of Derry Maine.” This is spoken in a sing song voice as the clown swings It’s feet and raises a hand to sweep over the landscape in a flourish. “And you, child. You are empty.”  
“That’s none of your business.” Her teeth give a few involuntary shivering snaps. She realizes her fingertips are numb. She must be hallucinating this because of the cold. She turns to look at the clown.  
It is no longer smiling or kicking It’s feet. It is merely watching her with that same impassive face. She feels her pulse quicken as she realizes…… It’s really quite beautiful in a very dark way. Like A lion humoring a hummingbird.   
Suddenly the clown tilts It’s head back to bark out a series of guffaws. It is laughing at her. “You think I am beautiful then? Tell me, why do you not cover yourself? Your body is failing. You cannot sustain your temperature.”   
“Maybe I don’t care if my body fails.” She doesn’t bother to question how It knows her thoughts. It is an hallucination after all.   
“I am no figment of your hypothermia, little human.” It throws her coat over her shoulders. She doesn’t know how It has procured it. Against her own will, her icy fingers clutch the garment around herself desperately.   
“Thank you.” Her voice chokes. She doesn’t understand how such a small gesture is making her chest hurt so badly.   
The clown’s voice is suddenly very soft, barely audible over the wind. “So you are not empty after all.”  
“Yes I am.” Her vision of the obsidian quarry blurs over with tears. “I’m fucking empty and I’m not afraid of you and I don’t care what the fuck you do.”  
More laughter from Pennywise. “I can smell your lies child.” And then serious again. “You are not empty. And you DO care. I could rip your spine from the rest of your chattering bones you know? Or slurp your entrails like spaghetti while you watch the bloody steam from them stain my brow.” Saliva puddles and drips from It’s lower lip as It ponders this statement.   
She feels no fear at this. Only quiet acceptance. “That makes you just like everyone else. Old hat.”  
At this It tilts It’s head in genuine surprise. It can sense no guise. She meant what she said. There is no discrepancy of belief. She KNOWS It can do just as It says. And yet there is no fear. None at all. She feels as if she is merely closing herself to It as she does of all things.  
“You are a very brave human.”  
“Maybe I’m just stupid.” She retorts.   
Another smile from Pennywise. “Perhaps. But I should think not. You do not smell stupid to me. You smell COLD.”   
“FINE.” She snaps, stumbling to her feet. Her foot slips on a rock and she loses her balance. The world seems to slow as she realizes she’s going to fall. And then jerks back into real time as she feels 2 large strong gloved hands grasp her arms and pull her upright with no effort at all.   
The clown brings It’s face down close to hers, the Golden orbs of It’s eyes making her cheeks glow.   
“Go home, child. This lake bed is no suitable resting place for a creature such as yourself. It is empty. You are not.” It releases her and steps back.   
On impulse, she leaps forward and hugs the tall clown. “Thank you for talking to me. I don’t know why, but it helped.” She feels It stiffen and then relax, tho It makes no move to return the embrace. She instinctively knows that It merely allowing her to do this is a concession on It’s part.  
“Okay. I’ll go home now.” She turns and walks away, not looking back.   
She hears It’s frozen voice once more before she simply knows It’s gone.  
“Not empty at all.”


	2. Token

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 to Token

Ellie clutches the small wooden box tightly. She hasn’t opened it in years. Only opens it when she’s very stressed or needs to remind herself that magic is real. That miracles are possible. And things have been going well enough. But ever since she’d returned to her childhood town, Derry Maine, she’d felt the old stress returning.  
The town itself is in turmoil. Children had started going missing in the past few months. Just like they had when she’d been small. It was all so like it had been. But her case had been different. She’d been saved.   
She opens the box and gazes at it’s contents. A shriveled, desiccated piece of rubber. An old deflated balloon. Papery and nearly faded to pink from it’s old rich color of vibrant red.   
Ellie can remember the one who'd given this balloon to her. Her guardian angel, tho he’d claimed he wasn’t. “Angel of the sewers.” He’d said. She smiles as she gently closes the box, and slides it into the pocket of an errant shirt in her closet. To keep it hidden. To keep it safe. Then she turns to gaze at herself in the full length mirror upon the inside of the closet door. Studies herself before heading out.  
Derry is hosting a large carnival and she is looking forward to it. It’ll be nice distraction from her hectic life. She chooses to ride a bike and, as she pedals, she can’t help but think about why she is here. She would have never wanted to return to this place yet, that childhood memory of being saved by……. Whoever Pennywise is……… holds her here.   
The carnival is a grand time. She wins a stuffed clown. Carries it with her as she munches on a corndog and enjoys the sights. She is completely unaware of the violence being enacted on a young man not far away. Has no idea what she’s heading into as she leaves the carnival and heads down a dark street, pushing her bike along, the clown plush tucked into the basket of her bike, enjoying the night air. Doesn’t realize she’s on an intercepting course with the aggressors of this brutal act.   
She hears them before she sees them. Once brutal beasts, now reduced to frightened children, they are running, shoving each other out of the way. Not far from splitting up to hide from their own implication. It is dark, and they are moving so fast, she has no time to react before the largest of them, a run down brutish male, knocks flat into her, causing her to flail the ground, the bike clattering atop her as he falls atop the bike. His weight causes the cold steel of the bike frame to bite into her flesh. The clown plush sails away and lands softly in the gutter. The other aggressors, not seeing their comrade fall, continue off.  
“Get…… OFF…….. of me.” She gasps, pushing and clawing at him.  
“HEY! FUCK YOU! YOU WERE IN MY WAY!” Her vision shatters into bright stars as his fist connects with her temple.   
……………………………………………..  
It moans with pleasure as It slurps the blood from It’s fingertips. As always, the salty sweet of human terror leaves It sated. Not fully satisfied. Never fully satisfied. But it dulls the aching hunger for some time.   
Turning It’s slender hands, It uses the cleaner portions of It’s silken gloves to slowly wipe the gore from It’s lips and cheeks. Crouching there, near the sewer pipe, cleaning It’s face with It’s hands, the glowing orbs of It’s eyes flashing about and occasionally disappearing as It’s eyes close, It looks feral and cat like. It doesn’t need to do this, could easily will Itself clean, but It relishes in the wildness of this action. Of both dirtying and cleaning Itself. Enjoys the mockery of the actions of living things that this represents.   
It crouches lower, leaning It’s weight onto It’s finger tips upon the ground, tilting It’s head, then becomes motionless. It’s pupils wander in opposite directions. The yellow light from a nearby street light reflects off of a thin line of saliva running from It’s drooping lower lip. It is listening.   
It can hear a struggle, smell animal like fear. An inhuman fanged smile splits It’s face.   
…………………………………………………  
Ellie is still conscious, but almost wishes she isn’t. She registers the tickling warm sensation of liquid running from her nose. Blood. The vision of the male above her swims. The blurry figure pulls back his elbow, as if he intends to punch her again. She struggles to lift her face, her vision clearing, yet the weight of both man and bike crush the air from her lungs.   
And suddenly, the weight is gone. The bike is still there, but the man is no longer upon it. His face is also no longer in her vision. She struggles up to support herself on one elbow.  
When she sees where he’s gone, her entire body reacts. Freezes. Her eyes widen. Her mouth dries. It’s him! Her sewer angel!  
The clown seems bigger than she remembers. And dirtier. The ruff around his neck is blood stained, as is the front of his suit and the orange poofs are sodden and limp from it. His chin and cheeks also have several obvious smears of blood upon them as well.   
He’s holding the male by his neck by one hand, his glove appearing brown from dried blood. His fingers grasp so tightly that she can see the male’s flesh puckering around his fingers. He’s flailing and kicking, clawing uselessly at the silver clad arm. His actions make the strings of tiny bells here shimmer and tinkle. His face is turning purple, his tongue lolls out of his slack mouth. The whites of his eyes are visible as he gazes upon his aggressor in utter terror.   
“Hello Webby.” The voice is just as she remembers as well, only he isn’t talking in the same sing song way. He’s gleefully snarling his words. Hungry.  
“Whatcha runnin from?” The clown purses his lips playfully, his brows raising. He looks like an inquisitive painted child for the barest of moments before speaking again. “You afraid of a lil gay boy, Webby?” The clown makes a loud wet kissie face at the male before he throws his head back to roar laughter at the night sky.   
Webby, or so Ellie now believes the male is called, chokes out, and reaches out a desperate hand to try to strike the face of the clown, but his arm doesn’t reach. The clown now stares at him mildly, before opening his mouth. Wide, wider. Webby makes bubbling noises, trying to scream, as the clown’s teeth lengthen and sharpen. His gums push past his lips, more teeth blossoming from the red flesh with wet popping sounds. He leans forward with comical slowness. He looks as if he’s about to bite directly onto the face of the man.   
Ellie is in awe of him. He appears as some alien bipedal lion. She should be afraid. She SHOULD be. But she’s not. This Webby had HURT her. Had intended to hurt her even more. Yet here was her friend, rescuing her again. He was a lot dirtier and far more fearsome than she remembered. Vicious and terrifying and brutal. He is beautiful.   
“Pennywise.” This is barely more than a whisper. She hasn’t even realized that she’s murmured it. But the clown freezes, his mouth splayed wide around Webby's face, a few of the longer teeth already puncturing his skin.   
He slowly pulls his face away from the man’s, his gaping maw slowly retracting, before slinging it around to finally look at her. His lips are set in an irritated sneer, the rows of scalpel teeth still quite visible, his buck teeth apparent in the display, though longer and sharper. The dried blood on his chin is wet again from the deluge of saliva, which drizzles down onto his stained neck ruff. His eyes are a bloody red that she’s never seen before, and they glow like dirty neon.  
Webby is still flailing miserably, still moving the clown’s bells in a desperate rhythm. Yet Pennywise doesn’t seem the least bit taxed from holding him suspended in one hand.   
“You know ole Pennywise?” The tone of his voice is wicked and raspy and dark. His irises twitch and one drifts back to gaze at Webby as the other remains focused on Ellie. His nostrils flare and his head jerks. His mouth hangs slack and he’s making animal snuffing noises as he takes in her scent on the light breeze. Reads her thoughts.   
Then his lips spread again, revealing impossible rows of teeth as he grins at her.  
“Elliiiiiieeeeee.” It’s a low, drawn out hiss. Without moving the rest of his body, the clown tosses Webby carelessly away, both eyes now focused on her own eyes.   
Webby splutters and struggles to stand.  
“Better leave that light on in the hallway, Webby.” The clown’s eyes remain fixed on Ellie as he speaks. “I most certainly WILL be in your linen closet next time.” A low hiccuping growl leaks from his mouth. The most evil and quiet laughter ever imaginable. Webby’s face recoils in horror as he turns and runs soundlessly away.  
Ellie is now completely alone with Pennywise for the first time in 27 years.


	3. Pegging Penny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this with some help from @alllosersdownhere   
Enjoy 5k plus words of clown pegging

"Sooooooo….. You wanna?" You feel the blood heating your face as you blush from your hairline to your navel. Standing near the bedroom door and very much naked, you fight the urge to look away from the clown that lingers by your bed.  
Pennywise is gazing at the objects spread out upon the mattress with an oddly confused expression upon his face. You've been pointedly ignoring these objects as soon as you'd laid them out, the idea of acknowledging their existence again making your throat feel dry and cracked.   
He picks one up. A large, thick, nylon collar in a brilliant blue. With a heavy-duty plastic clip. "You wish for me to put this on?" You blush again.   
"Yes….. I thought it might be fun……. Maybe tell YOU what to do for a change." Your nervous laughter sounds more like a series of chokes. The sound dies in your throat as he places the collar delicately back upon the bed to focus on the leash next to it. It is also made of thick nylon. And bright red. You watch as he wraps an end around each of his gloved hands. Then pulls the leash taught in a rapid snapping motion as if testing its strength. Your body jerks at the unexpected whip-like sound.   
The next thing he examines is the most embarrassing of all. A moderately sized, flesh-toned strap on. The expression on his face is wide-eyed and curious. Inquisitive even. You blanch as he sniffs it, before setting it back down and tilting his head at you.   
You feel a strange twist in your chest. He's not innocent. You know this. But the endearing ignorance in his expression brings an inimitable warmth to your fluttering heart.   
"This would please you? If I do this? If I submit to what you command?" His voice is somber, unsure. He is a predator... and that he is seemingly considering this at ALL...  
"Yes, Penny." Your voice is a nervous whisper as you feel the warmth in your chest pool lower into your abdomen. Into your core. His nostrils flare and you know now he is aware, by your scent, of how much you desire this.   
His gloved hand returns to the collar, briefly hesitating before he picks it up once more. He strokes over it with his thumb as you watch with held breath, your chest thrumming. Those sun-bright eyes flick to yours.  
Pennywise reaches out to hand it to you. You shudder as the silk of his glove brushes your fingertips and the hefty weight of the object presses upon your palm. This causes a wicked grin to crease his face. Knowing and dark, his expression is lascivious.   
"I await your command," His voice is now an amorous growl. "Mistress." The ‘s’ in this word is drawn out, a mocking hiss.  
You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks, your mouth falling open. A soft curse falls from your lips, and suddenly you know this is not a want but a need. Your mind has painted the picture of him laid before you more than you'd ever admit; this beautiful creature, this preying beast, surrendering to you.   
"Take..." You stop and lick your lips to try again, forcing command into your tone. "Take off your suit. Strip for me." You close your eyes as your imagination rushes ahead, fiery heat coiling within your belly. “I want to see you bare.”  
Pennywise’s throaty purr has your fingers clenching the nylon collar. “Yes, Mistress.”  
You watch raptly as he obeys. First, he kicks off his boots, as well as a pair of clean white socks. Then he moves to the ruffle around his neck, pulling it over to leave the perfectly styled coif of his hair disheveled. It is a torturous reveal. You wish to touch and trace his porcelain colored skin. Feel the lean muscle flex beneath your fingertips.   
The clown gives you a smirk as he reaches to his chest, the ruffles on his arms pressing upon the orange puffs, as he unsnaps his doublet. You reach out and back to hold the wall, as your knees suddenly feel as if they are stuffed with packing bubbles. Flushing at the realization that you've never seen what lies beneath that silk. Well…… you've seen his genitalia, if that is what it can be called. But you've never seen his FLESH. His SKIN.   
The clown shrugs his shoulders, the thicker, vest-like material of the doublet sliding down his arms and flopping onto your bedroom floor. As Pennywise reaches up to the buttons of his shirt, your hungry mouth gets the better of you.   
"I ought to make you give me a strip tease." You attempt to cover the burning flush on your cheeks by grasping your own chin and tapping your lips with your forefinger.   
The clown freezes, his fingers stilling upon the small pearl colored buttons on the looser fitting undershirt. His retort is rapid fire.   
"The mechanics of my dance might make such a thing difficult."  
The instant mental picture of him doing his wagon jig in a thong and fishnets turns your cheeks a livid shade of fuschia. You can't help yourself. Wheezes of laughter begin to whistle thru your teeth.   
Pennywise looks at you incredulously before his face darkens, his brows furrowing and molding into demonic ridges, his eyes darkening to vermilion. Without warning, he grasps large handfuls of silk in both of his hands and rips violently. You are not prepared for what you see. And the laughter dies upon your lips, already forgotten.  
You had expected smooth pale flesh. You had expected an albino body of sorts. You had expected a man's body. And it IS similar in some ways. Iron tight ridges of muscle upon his belly flare into his trousers in a telltale sign of a silk covered iliac furrow. His pecs are well defined as well, tho not in an obnoxious overly muscled way. His body appears lithe and wiry rather than the slenderness you have been expecting.  
But it is the skin itself which takes you aback. It appears smooth and supple, nearly shiny in its hairlessness. And yet, in certain joint areas... the tops of his shoulders, and his elbows and wrists as he lets the tattered remnants of his shirt fall away... the skin is mottled and cracked. Similar to the paint along his hairline. And yes, the color of it is as porcelain white as his face.  
But there are blaring traits which you had never expected. Rising from his groin, the base of which is still covered by his trousers, are twin red lines. One in each of the dips of his hip bones, and the very same crimson as the lines which run along his face. They climb up and around his body, thicker at the base and tapering as they move upward. Several lines curve and branch from these main stems. They look as vines growing inside the pale luminosity of his flesh. Twisted replicas of the smaller lines on his face. Although the crimson color makes them appear vein like as well.   
Words are stolen from you. You can only gaze in awed silence and trace over them with your eyes as surely as you wish to do so with your palms. However you had envisaged him... had not come close to the real thing. And you have not yet seen all of him.   
With a wry, knowing smile gracing his lips, he asks, "Do you like what you see, Mistress?"  
“The rest of it, Penny.” Your voice still quivers, though nerves are no longer the culprit behind it. "I want to see it all."  
Rocking back on his heels, impossibly tall, he tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers but does nothing more. Only smirking at you with a brow raised. He removes his thumbs again without removing his pants and splays his silken fingers, displaying them to you. Then, he reaches up and pinches the tip of the glove upon his middle finger and begins to pull at the material.   
"Stop." The word is more like a croak. The clown halts what he's doing. "No. Leave the gloves on. Everything else off."  
That mischievous grin slowly unfurls yet again. He releases the garment and allows it to snap back into place, and slips his hand back to his waist, purposefully drawing one of his large palms down his belly as he does so, the sound of silk running along flesh clearly audible. He begins to urge the pants over his slim hips, his lower lip caught between his teeth.   
Your mouth is dry. He is unhurried, savoring the reveal. And gradually you see him. All of him. He steps out of the trousers and kicks them away, now completely, brazenly and beautifully bare before you.   
He is very obviously relishing in your reaction to him. Placing his palms on the back of his head, he spreads his elbows wide, his legs flexed and splayed shoulder width as if he's modeling himself to you. But quite frankly, you're too turned on to give a shit.   
At first, it appears as if he has a woman's genitalia. But then a probing organ slithers out into your view. His cock is not like anything you've ever seen before. Thick and meaty, it only half hangs due to being quite stiff. But it is still writhing. It appears similar to a tentacle yet the firmness of it prevents it from being quite as flexible. It is the deep color of venous blood, quite wet, and you can see what appears to be barbs around the head, curving back wickedly. This head is not tapered but bulbous. As if the entire organ is its own entity, slithering against his thighs, seeking some unknown prey.  
"That's…….. Different……" You know your face is aflame.   
"Does this form displease you?" His brow is, once again smooth. His eyes, a glowing periwinkle blue. You can swear he sounds almost nervous. "Would you have me change?"  
"NEVER." The word plows from your lips in a vehement rasp. "Come here, Penny. Come here and kneel in front of me."  
Pennywise complies, moving fluidly and doing just as you say. Dropping to one knee, his arms hanging loosely by his sides, his face turned up to you, his gaze now almost childlike. Trusting. It is not often that you see him like this. Gentle. Obedient. And shorter than you.   
You gulp shyly and wrap the hefty collar around his neck, the bottoms of your wrists brushing the cool flesh of his delicately formed decolletage. His nostrils flare at your nearness and you can clearly see his muscles rope and flinch at his effort to remain still for you.   
Standing stiffly, you point a shaky finger back to the objects on the bed. "Get the leash, Pennywise. Get it and bring it to me." You are trying to sound firm and, although you are not shaking as badly as before, you realize you are feeling just a little more confident.  
He complies without comment or his usual teasing, towering above you when he stands and yet obeying your words. He glides to the bed and lifts the leash within his silken gloves, turning back on his heels. You take it from him with flushed cheeks.  
"Lower your head for me." He does so, and you clip the leash to the collar, allowing it to slide through your fingers to grip the end. He straightens once more, his eyes flicking to the last remaining object — the one you have fantasized about most of all.  
“And the other, Mistress?” he questions, the sound dulled over the blood that rushes to your head. The thought makes you dizzy, so much more intense now that he is before you like this. “Do you wish me to retrieve it for you?”  
"Not yet," you tell him, swallowing thickly. Forcing your legs steady. Soon. Definitely soon. Seeing him in this way… is exhilarating. You would not want the night over so quickly. No, you have more planned first. So much more. “Come with me.”  
His bare feet pad along the floor to dutifully trail yours. On impulse, you whirl, finally feeling a carnal confidence enveloping your body.  
"On your knees, clown." You bark out, this time your voice is soft and firm as velvet covering a cold loaded gun.   
Galaxies and stars of an ancient past are visible in his widening eyes for the tiniest moment. But he does not speak. Those swirling blue irises remain fixed upon yours as the Eater of Worlds kneels to both knees.  
"Hands too. On your hands and knees." Your courage bursts forth at his compliance. You are practically hissing "Crawl for me, my love." You wrap the handle of the leash around your palm, much as he'd done earlier, and give a firm yet soft yank downwards upon it.   
For a moment, you are sure he'll resist. Absolutely certain he'll leap upon you and exact righteous vengeance for this callous behaviour towards him. Perhaps even hurt you. But he does none of these things. Instead, his body follows the direction of your pull, following thru with the action and command by falling forward onto his hands with a muted thud. The soft smoothness of the silk upon his palms causes his hands to slide a bit on the hardwood. You can't help but admire the way the muscle structure upon his back ripples as he instinctively uses his strength to keep his hands from sliding out from under him completely.   
As his face slowly raises to return his eyes to yours, you feel your resolve slip the tiniest fraction. He's being so GOOD. You can hardly believe it. So you tell him so.  
"That's a good boy." You reach down, with your free hand, and do something you've been dying to do since the first moment you saw him. Your fingers shake as they card thru his feathery soft ginger hair. You can see the skin between his ribs flexing inwards as his chest surges and his nostrils flare. You can feel him pressing into your hand. He's definitely enjoying this. His face remains perfectly smooth, his eyes impossibly wide.   
You stand again and back away to the end of the length of the leash. "Come to me, Penny. Crawl for me."  
And he instantly complies. And you are reminded again that he's not human. The crawling isn't the normal blocky surge of a human crawl. It is graceful, his bones and joints fluid as he glides forward to you smoothly. He looks like a pale, striped and collared panther. Almost feline.   
You reach your hand down to him, palm up. He needs no cue, approaching and pressing his cheek into it. "That's a very very good boy." You trace his bottom lip with your thumb. Your eyes leave his to admire his lips. Painted and plump…… you've always loved his lips. Your body quivers with sudden, almost painful arousal.  
Standing, you slowly back towards the bed, keeping the leash taught, watching that fluid crawl as he follows you. All this time…… and his eyes have never left yours. As you feel the mattress touching the back of your legs, you reach down to touch his lips again.  
"You have beautiful lips, Pennywise."   
His mouth curls into a smile which completely negates any innocence on his face. He looks absolutely wicked. Predatory. You straighten, lifting one leg to rest your foot upon the bed, opening yourself to him completely.   
“You can start with kissing my thighs,” you tell him, gooseflesh raised on your arms in anticipation. “Go on.”  
You feel his hot breath before you feel his touch. He closes the distance, brushing those lips against your eager skin. His kisses are feather-light, so gentle they bring an ache to your chest, teasingly peppered over and over. When you’re sure you can take no more, he presses his mouth firmly over you and pulls back briefly to swipe his tongue over his lips. You know he can taste you.  
“More, Penny,” you urge, reaching out to rest your palm on the top of his head. Not pulling. Not yet. “More.”  
He, of course, obeys. Leans back in and licks along the length of your labia, teasing you open with his tongue, the tip of it brushing your clit and stealing the breath from your lungs. One long swipe and your hips buck, seeking more of that pretty, talented mouth.  
One hand raises and settles beneath your leg. The other rests now on your twitching stomach. Soft silk against your skin in contrast to the velvet sweetness of his tongue. He dips to lap up your wetness, a low and pleased growl thrumming through his chest at the taste, a pleasant vibration that sends an electric shock throughout your body.  
“Fuck,” you hiss. “You feel so good. So, so good.” Your fingers curl in his hair, though you fight it. You know you cannot hurt him, but you do not want to even try. “My clit, Penny. You know what to do. Good boy.”  
His teeth graze your hood as he sucks you into his mouth. His tongue lashes over you, your vision clouding over, your body overwhelmed. He does not press down or force you still. Instead he follows, refusing to let up. Refusing to disobey. And just as he follows your every motion, his eyes still never leave yours.  
“Oh, God.” A moan is viciously wrenched from your throat. You feel him smirk against you. And you know he wants to please you; that he is doing this purely because it is what you desire. Your grip on his leash is so tight your knuckles are pale. “That’s it.” Another sound, high and keening. The ability to form coherent phrases is slipping from you rapidly, but you manage one final smattering of praise: “J-just like that, Penny… just like that, my love…”  
You feel the muscles in your core clench painfully as his tongue circles just the right spot. Electric jitters of carnal energy shoot almost painfully up your spine and down your legs, making you lose your balance a bit as your toes instinctively curl. Your head falls back and you feel your center shifting. You are going to fall backwards and you DO NOT GIVE A DAMN.   
Just as rapidly, you feel his strong hands, deceptively soft and silky on the surface from the gloves, grasp your bottom. Merciless squeezing upon each ass cheek as he holds you firm and steady. Helping you to stand as you cum powerfully into his hungry mouth. The sounds of his ministrations amplify to wet slurps.   
He continues to hold you up until the last of the shudders fade. You feel tiny beads of sweat blooming between your breasts and upon your quivering belly.   
"Look at me, Penny." A foolish command, as his eyes have been feasting upon you just as much as his mouth. He pulls his face back to give you another wicked grin, a string of saliva laden liquid connecting his mouth to you. His lips and chin glisten with slick fluid. For a moment you are frozen. For a moment you literally cannot speak.   
His smile fades as he watches you, the smugness fading to predatory hunger. You can feel the tip of his cock brushing against your knees. Can feel the barbs against your knees, like wet rubbery nubs. He wants to take you. He wants to fuck you silly. Yet instead he makes the conscious choice to remain just where you'd told him to be.   
"Did that please you, Mistress? Is Pennywise being a good pet?" His voice is a dark growl, his upper lip quivers in a mixture of arousal and a sneer.   
"Yes." You cannot believe how calm your voice sounds. Husky yes. But still quite calm. "Now……. Fetch my cock."   
Still smirking, he stands, turns, and leans over the bed to retrieve the flesh-toned rubber cock. You hadn't realized you have another blush left within you, but bloom it does as your eyes brazenly ogle his flexed ass. It's a thing of beauty, the flesh and sinew starkly tightening as he stands and turns to you, offering the offending object.   
"No sir. You're going to put it on me." You lift the foot which had been sitting on the bed and wriggle the toes. You do not realize the expression upon your face is one of impish good nature.   
He complies rapidly, sliding one loop onto your leg and holding it steady as you touch that foot to the ground and adjust your balance to lift the other. Sliding that loop on as well, he then begins to pull the device up your legs. He has to stoop quite far to do this and you can't help but enjoy the view of those taught ass cheeks from a different angle. As he buckles the device around your waist, you feel yet another deliciously wicked idea.  
"Suck it, Penny." His eyes widen. "Suck my cock." Your voice falters a bit on the last word.  
He doesn't hesitate in the slightest, immediately wrapping those painted lips around the rubbery tip and holding them there. His tongue slithers out of his mouth, inhumanly long, to wrap around the device and milk its length before his lips follow suit. Your body is already heating again as you watch his mouth sway along the cock in tandem with his extended tongue.   
"That's right, my sweet clown. Make it nice and wet." You hear a strange thumping in your ears as your pulse seems almost too loud to bear. You watch him for a bit longer. Then, you suddenly feel impatient.  
"Stop. Now."   
He pulls his lips off, his tongue following suit much more slowly, sliding back along and around to disappear into his mouth, swiping one last circle around his lips to clean them.   
"Now….. I want you to crawl into that bed. On all fours. Hands and knees. With that ridiculously gorgeous ass good and low for me."   
Again, he does just as you say. Crawls upon the bed, steadies himself on his hands and knees, and spreads his knees a bit to lower his bottom. You position yourself behind him, nearly having to stand on tip toe.  
"Lower, Pennywise." Now YOUR voice is a growl. He bunches his thighs to comply. He's even prettier like this than you imagined, his own cock hard and aching and writhing. You rest your hand at the base of his back, leaning some of your weight on him, unable to resist slowly roving over his skin. Feeling the powerful muscles beneath your fingertips. An electrifying reminder that he could so easily overpower you.  
And yet…  
You draw your hand back to where it was, your other rising to slip around the length of the thick rubber shaft. It is then you really get to see that it is not just a cock that hangs between his thighs, but that your first impression of feminine anatomy was correct as well, flushed and dripping with arousal.   
You hiss out a breath between your teeth, a flood of want flowing hotly through your body. “Oh, you want this, don’t you?”   
"I want you to be pleased." His response is a darkling plea. And yet is a snarl. As if he is battling his own instinctive will. You shiver as you watch the muscles beneath the flesh of his back quiver and twitch. You can see just how much he is restraining himself for you. “Mistress.”  
“I am,” you promise him. “Oh, you’re doing so well for me. Such a good boy. Now relax, my heart." You finally give in to the urge to squeeze and massage his tight bottom and feel every sinew loosen as he complies. You run an experimental thumb around the tight ring. Too dry.   
"Time for the good boy to get his reward." You dip you face to the more female parts of his anatomy and, without warning, begin to nip and suckle at the lips of it, reaching up to run your hands along the length of his cock.   
A low snarl erupts from him and his entire body stiffens at this. You pull you face back, releasing the flesh from your teeth with a gentle snap. "I said relax." You feel him doing so again as you continue your ministrations. Focusing first on his alien cunt before running your tongue up to lash at his bottom. His body vibrates with hissing but he remains still.   
Now that he's slick, you stand tall again and position yourself behind him. Feet firm upon the ground, you grasp the tip of the rubber cock and begin to press it into him. You go as slowly as possible, aware that you cannot feel thru this object.   
So you are very surprised when he extends his thighs, taking the cock in and fully inserting it into himself with a garbled groan.   
"Yesssss." His voice is demonic and cracked. "Take me, Mistress."   
This time it is you who complies. Grasping his hips firmly, you pull out slowly, then thrust home experimentally. The clown snarls and purrs, bringing his hips to meet the base of the rubber, the action forceful enough to leave a sting on your thighs.  
"Look at you! Taking this cock like a champ! Such a good, good boy." You reach up to touch and massage his back, brushing his hair with your fingertips, allowing him this small modicum of control. Allowing him to set the pace.   
You watch him. Admire him. As he rocks himself and quivers and snarls. You cannot see his face but, judging by the sound of tearing material, you can guess that he's using his fangs to shred your bedding. He stretches out his long arms, claws snapping thru the silk of the gloves to slash and knead at your pillow.   
This time when he rocks back, you meet him with your own push. You pull your hands back as you pull out, drifting over his skin to firmly grasp his hips. You take his lead and begin to follow his pace.  
He is so wonderfully responsive. So needy, loosing pleased hisses every time you bury yourself within. Being unable to feel sensation through what is only a toy allows you to truly relish in his eagerness and in the way his body responds. You cannot feel him clutch around you, but you can watch him seek out more of the cock; can see the slickness coated on its shaft each time you draw out; can see the sweat building on his back, a thin sheen that seems to make his skin glow in the light.  
The sight of it is enough to force a hiss through your own teeth.  
You need to see his face.  
"Pennywise." Your voice is thick and husky, startling even you. Never once losing momentum, you run your hand over the swell of his ass and lean forward, using your other to touch his cheek, urge him out of the fog of lust just enough to hear you. “Pennywise, up. Push yourself up for me, my love.”  
He obeys without comment, without hesitation. The bed creaks as he rises, and once he's up, you wind both your arms around his torso to goad him back. Until he’s kneeling before you and your breasts press against his back. You’ve stilled your motions but remained within him. You do not want to leave him. You’ve ached for this, and now you gaze at him and that ache spreads through your chest like a blazing flame.  
His hair is mussed, no longer curving up into the styled devil horns you are accustomed to. It is disheveled and disarranged. The curl in the middle now clings to his forehead, sticky with sweat. You flick your eyes to his lips, shining with saliva, hints of sharpened teeth that telltale his pleasure. He rocks back needily, his half-lidded eyes watching yours.  
Pleading.  
“Oh,” you breathe. You press your lips against his shoulder. Trail them to his neck, up until you may nip at his earlobe and whisper, “look at you. Beautiful. All of you.”  
“Yes, Mistress.” His speech is rough. Slow. As if he is grappling to be articulate. “As are you.”  
You circle your hips experimentally, rolling the cock within him. He utters a sound much like the mewl of a kitten.  
"More, Mistress………. Please………" The tiny whispering growl of his voice, and the profound realization that he has just PLEADED with you, makes you realize a brilliant truth. It does not matter that his neck is bound and tied to your supposed will. It does not matter that he is doing as you say. It does not matter that you hold him here, quivering and impaled like a fuck toy. He could end you. Turn and kill you so swiftly that you would not even know it's happening. You realize…… it is YOU who are bound. You are the servant here. The slave. You would do anything he asked. Be anything he asked you to be. And with this realization, you do as you've always done. As you will always do. You obey him.  
Wrapping your arms around his torso, digging your nails into his flesh in a way that would make any mortal man cry out, you hold him. Using his body as an anchor as you thrust your hips madly. Your thrusting is crooked and imperfect, the movement of one who is not accustomed to moving in this way. But it is guttural and primal. Harsh rasping breathing leaves you as your hips make wet slapping sounds upon his bottom.  
You lower a hand down his belly, your fingers slipping in the sweat which trails down in rivulets, to grasp his own writhing cock. Unlike the one in the harness you're wearing, this organ is hot and pulsing and ALIVE. You squeeze and begin long, beastly and shameless strokes. Milking him as surely as he must be milking the toy.   
You feel his body begin to stiffen. It even becomes more difficult to move the cock in and out as he is clenching so tightly. You can feel the muscles in his back stiffening to iron as you watch his arms extend and flex. The claws flailing and grasping at air. A demonic roar bubbles from him, building low in his belly, leaving vibrating sensations upon your forearms as it bursts up thru his ribcage and out of his maw to rock the very window sills in your bedroom. You know the neighbors must be hearing this just as surely as you know that you do not give a good God damn if they DO.   
His cock pulsates in your hand and you feel his hot cum pour over your knuckles and drip down onto the bed.   
You slide your hand back up his belly, not caring about the hot trail of cum you leave as you do so, and squeeze with both arms. Holding his panting body. Comforting him with gentle kisses between his shoulder blades.   
"Are you finished with me, Mistress?" His body feels fluid and almost limp as he rumbles out the question.   
"Yes. My sweet gorgeous clown. You were so good." You reach up and unsnap the collar, relishing in the dampness of the material and how you are the one responsible for it being this way.   
Suddenly, the world around you is a blur. The curtains, wall, even your shorn bedding, all a blur as, before your mind can register what is happening, you're pinned face down upon your bed, your head sticking out and suspended over the edge of the mattress directly across from the full length mirror on the wall. Suspended also, by the dull pressure of that blue nylon collar around your own neck. How had he even gotten that collar around your neck??  
In your current position, you can only see his reflection in the mirror as he crouches over the length of your body, the rippling muscles of his chest and belly wet and cool upon your back. His face is monstrous, fangs extended, drool pooling onto the nape of your neck. You can feel his thick cock pulsing and prodding at your knees, spreading them wide.   
"Good. I’m glad I could be a GOOD GOOD BOY for you." His voice is a dark hiss. "And I must tell you, PET, I shall enjoy repeating this experience. Now……. Are you going to be a good GOOD girl for Pennywise?"


	4. Nannywise Headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just me on some dumb ass shit today. I DIED doing these HC lol. Sorry about the lack of dividing. Pasting from Docs ain't working right

Pennywise? Babysitting?  
NOM???  
Okay let's examine WHY he'd NOT eat the tykes?  
Maybe they're relatives of yours? Someone he KNOWS you care for?  
Maybe (wishful thinking) it's his own children?  
Humans can pet cattle without eating them so it stands to reason that Penny is capable of something like this.   
FEED THE CLOWN FIRST OML  
Self denial is NOT something he's good at!  
FEED HIM  
Okay. Assuming he's well fed AND has the wherewithal to NOT see a walking cheeseburger…….. You prolly better prep the kiddos too. Penny isn't exactly your typical run of the mill, gentle looking clown.   
You could ask Penny to go Bob Gray.  
He won't tho.  
Expect clownly guffaws if you ask.  
“I EAT children, I do not SIT them.”  
"Or do I sit ON them? Yes! Maybe this is acceptable." "NO PENNY!"  
The child screams? He… just screams back mockingly.  
Older kid throws a tantrum? He will throw one BACK. Throw himself on the floor. “That’s what YOU sound like, idiot child.”  
WHY WOULD YOU LET THIS CLOWN BABYSIT???  
Time to feed the kiddo? Penny sniffs their food, makes a disgusted face. “You eat THIS? I could find you something better.”  
FEED THE DAMN CLOWN  
Better hope the kid doesn’t want a bedtime story. Penny has some interesting ones. That child is never sleeping again and it is your fault for trusting the child-murdering clown to babysit.   
Oldest, watching Beavis and Butthead when he's CLEARLY been told NOT to? Pennywise: "This is the most RIDICULOUS…… most ASININE……. turn it up will ya?"  
Baby spits food in his face? Penny's GOING to either A) leper barf a lah chapter 2 or B) dump the baby food on their head.  
Kid won’t sleep? Penny doesn’t understand this. This clown can sleep for 27 years, why won’t this kid sleep for more than 27 minutes?  
He would entertain them by dancing. Unfortunately, he'll probably make the world dance around him instead or do something equally traumatising for the poor tyke. Or worse…… teaching the kid to do the wagon jig."NO you fool, it's like THIS." Kicks one of your knick knacks.  
Kiddo brings a teddy to show him. He takes it, stares with distaste. Shreds it with his claws and drops the mauled bear to the floor.   
Reading a picture book? He will do something HORRIFIC. ESPECIALLY if the picture book has turtles oml. Make sure it does not.  
One child draws on the wall. Another child says "you know you're not supposed to do that! (Y/N) said so!" Cue demonic clown grin. Expect a Divinci quality piece on your wall. In blood? Shit? Who knows…..  
Penny is babysitting a little girl who invites him to her tea party? ...Actually. This is nice. He can’t fit at the little table and his knees are up to his chest comically but still.  
Kid gets bored of the tea party so Penny flips over the table and tears up the guest dolls in a rage.  
He shoves on some horror movies. Lets the kids skip bedtime to watch.   
Kiddo wants to play dress up. Penny's having NONE of it……. At first.  
Is surprisingly tolerant of child putting makeup on his face.  
"MAKE ME PRETTY PENNY!" Yup. You guessed it. Expect a house full of tiny demonic clowns and one tall clown drag queen.  
Bathtime! Don’t worry, he won’t leave them unsupervised. He’ll just… probably turn the water to blood or pop out of the drain.  
Unless they bring out the bubbles….. This clown is going to be ADDICTED. Will probably use the entire bottle.  
HE TURNS BIG BOI. Lets the kids climb on him. It is adorable. A pity it would destroy the house.  
If the kiddos want to go to the park, that’s fine! He’ll watch over them. Probably grab a snack while he’s out. Plenty to pick from.  
As much as he likes to mock the popping sound, you'd think he knows how to microwave a bag of popcorn. SURPRISE! He doesn't. But never one to give up he'll keep trying. Just take a moment to imagine how your house is going to smell after 10 burnt bags of popcorn.  
KIDS WANT BALLOON ANIMALS  
Penny does not know how to do balloon animals  
He DESTROYS those balloons. Bites them in a fury. Popped balloons EVERYWHERE.  
Until the oldest shows him how to make a balloon penis. Then……. Lots of cackling and balloon penises.   
Oldest girl says "Ew, that's gross. What are you? Two?"  
Penny pops a balloon penis in her face.  
Blanket forts. Penny cannot grasp the logic behind these. Just tears them down to scare the shit outta the kids.  
But plastic sword fights? Say hello to Obi Wan Penny. Jediwise.   
Child throws candy at the television. Penny thinks this is dandy. Child puts on TMNT. Penny throws entire bowl of candy. Including the bowl.  
Penny TRIES the candy. Say bye to your candy. Wrappers and all.  
Baby needs changed. Nope.  
Baby cries. FINE.  
Penny lives in a sewer so the smell is no bother to him. This clown can actually change a nappy like a PRO….. he just doesn't WANT to.  
Bed time: "I'm scared of the dark Penny."   
"GOOD…… shit…….. Ugh….. FINE  
Opens mouth towards the ceiling. PRESTO! Indirect deadlight night light.  
Children start falling asleep. One is on his lap. They've FINALLY fallen asleep. He doesn't move. Not a single movement. 

Let's take a moment to SAVOR what you're going to find when you get home, shall we?   
Pieces of your ceiling are gone. There's a shit Mona Lisa on your living room wall. The bathroom is flooded with bubbles. It REEKS of burnt ass popcorn. Beavis and Butthead reruns on the tube, which is covered with pre chewed candy. Blankets and plastic swords EVERYWHERE. And there on the couch, amongst a sea of balloon penises, your sleeping demonic clown children. And a VERY disgruntled drag queen.   
The next morning, you find on your night stand….. A pristine brand new copy of "No Drama Discipline" by Daniel J Siegel.


	5. Token Pt 3

“Now, how have you been, little Ellie?” Pennywise's grin is demonic, the words slopping out like the saliva, as he brings his hands forward in front of his chest, touching every finger tip to its opposite on the other hand. He walks forward and to the side of her, stalking her, forcing her to scramble to her feet in order to be able to face him and keep him in her line of sight.  
Then, without warning, and faster than she can fathom, he is directly before her. He plops onto his bottom with a soft silky sound, his finger tips still touching. She’s looking down at the cracks on his forehead within his receding hairline as he slowly angles his face, now smooth and devoid of any malice, to bring his now periwinkle blue eyes to meet her own eyes. As if he’s openly trying to appear less threatening.  
“I’ve…….. Been alright.” On impulse, she drops to her own bottom before him, mirroring his actions as she touches her fingertips together and rests her chin on the tips of her thumbs. He looks visibly taken aback by this action.  
“Did you miss me, Ellie?” His brows are raised and his face tilts slightly with this question.   
“More than you’ll ever know. And…. We gotta look pretty silly sitting like this, in the middle of the street.” Ellie stiffles a giggle. Pennywise merely gives her a dour look.  
“No one shall come.” His tone isn’t threatening, but quite calm. “Why have you come back to Derry?”  
She thinks about lying. She really does. Thinks about some socially acceptable and meaningless answer. Then dismissed the thought just as quickly. He’ll know she’s lying anyhow. “You, Pennywise. I came back to see you.”  
“Foolish.” The answer is rapid fire and caustic, but Ellie feels no ire.   
“Why?” she questions. “And what about you? Do you ever think about me? I think about you a lot. You saved my life. And I’ve never forgotten.”  
His face is completely blank for several moments. “I was going to kill you, Ellie.”  
She should probably feel afraid. Yet, she doesn’t.   
“But you didn’t. You saved my life. And you saved me again this night. And I thank you, Pennywise.” Throwing caution to the wind, she lurches forward onto her knees, wrapping her arms around his neck, burrowing her face into his neck ruff. It is more stiff than she remembers. But his reaction is just the same. She feels the weight of his long arms as he drapes them over her shoulders, resting them on her back. He’s not returning her hug. But he’s not outright refusing it either.   
Releasing him, she stands, brushing dirt off of her ruined pants. Turning her back to him in a blatant show of trust, she stands her bike up. It’s surprisingly unharmed. She mounts it, turning her head back to him, fully expecting him to be gone. But he’s still sitting, cross legged, his hands now folded in his lap.   
“I’m gonna go home now. Will I see you again?” She can’t help the hopeful tone in her voice.  
“Yes. Yes I think you will, Ellie.” His voice is raspy and dark.   
…………………………………………………  
It watches her pedal away, It’s mind clouded and thoughtful. What is wrong with this human? She is clearly defective. Not an ounce of fear. Not even discomfort. The girl had been FAR more afraid of that sniveling weak whelp It'd peeled off of her than she was of Itself.  
It tilts It’s head curiously at an emanation of the girl’s scent still in this area. It wafts from an object in the gutter.  
………………………………………………  
As the weeks go by Ellie can’t seem to get RID of the clown.   
He just appears out of nowhere. Sits and watches her. Not engaging in conversation more than answering her questions. And even these answers are caustic and clipped.   
“Where did you come from?”   
“You could never understand.”  
“Do you have a true name?”  
“My name is Pennywise.”  
“This could not have POSSIBLY always have been your name.”  
“You could not possibly pronounce my true name, child.”  
Ellie never loses interest tho. He’s fascinating. And SO distracting. And eventually he begins to ask questions.  
“Why do you do that?”  
“Put on makeup? Because I like the way it makes me look.”  
“It makes you look like one of those nocturnal mammals.”   
Ellie stops and turns, raising a brow. “You BETTER not be talking about a racoon, Mister MoreMakeupThanADragQueen.”  
“This is just my face, Ellie.”  
The way her heart flutters at hearing her name coming from him makes her mess up her eyeliner wing.  
Each day, the feeling of being with him never fades. Never goes stale. She’s always just as thrilled to see him as she was the first time.   
This is how her mind is occupied when she goes to peddle her bike across the street one night, during a red light. And this is how her mind is occupied when a drunk driver ignores this red light…..  
……………………………………………  
It studies the soft object in It’s hands. Squeezing the thing softly and sniffing it and studying it. Reaching out It’s mind to comb her thoughts as It often does now. Her thoughts are on It. They nearly always are. It cannot understand her obsession. It cannot understand It’s own fascination with her. Squeezing the object again, thoughtfully, It examines this fascination.   
It has never received such attention before. Has never felt this feeling of adoration from any being. Only fear and repugnance. It supposes It should end her. Free itself of her. Yet, the thought of NOT seeing this inquisitive creature anymore…… of NOT listening to her voice as she talks about her day, as she queries It of the silliest things……… of NEVER seeing another being's eyes widen and nostrils flare with inherent pleasure at It’s presence……… the empty idea is distasteful.  
It is now that her thoughts spear into It’s mind of their own accord. FORCING their way in. As if she is CALLING for It. It drops the object It has been holding, closes It’s eyes, and focuses all of It’s will upon her mind.   
FEAR. The first It has ever felt from her. And the images are so FAST. One moment she is humming, kpop she refers to this kind of tune, and watching the concrete of a street, now wet from a recent rain, glisten by to the glow of a street light. The next, she’s looking at 2 lights. Brighter than twin suns. Bouncing along like inferior deadlights. An engine snarling as terrifying as any sound It could make. And then pain. Searing awful pain. It is concentrating so hard on what she’s seeing that It’s own gloved hand reaches up to clutch the silk at It’s belly in response. Then her mind is dark. Not sleeping. Not dreaming. Not conscious.  
When It’s eyes snap open, they flash the purest crystalline blue. It has never felt worry. Has never wanted to PREVENT any act of negative import upon another being. But this rapid and thoughtless end…… this will not do. Must not happen.   
A brief glimmer of will transports It to her side. It ignores the screech of brakes applied to tires. Screams of shock and terror at It’s instant presence matter not one wit to It. The drunk driver stumbling out of the car is nearly invisible to It, his apologetic cries and mumbling the equivalent to the clicking of ant legs and just as insignificant. The only thing that holds It’s attention is her broken form slumped upon the concrete.  
Striding over to her, It kneels, touching her shoulder. The fingers of his gloves come back glossy with blood. It places It’s hands upon her side and pulls her to her back. She’s slack jawed and very pale. It can hear her fluttering and weak heart. Can see a large bloody wound upon her stomach. Watches the life force pouring from her.   
“Hey! I’m sorry! She came outta nowhere, I swear!” the drunkard touches the clown’s shoulder.   
Placing both palms protectively upon Ellie, Pennywise whips his face around, his eyes blazing vermilion, his jaws flayed impossibly wide, and sinks innumerable fangs into the forearm of the man. The sickening snap of a dislocated elbow joint is heard as the clown jerks his face away again, a large chunk of the man’s flesh coming with it. Then only shrill screams are heard as the man stumbles away, clutching his injured arm to his chest. Pennywise spits the meat out as if it tastes of shit.   
Ellie coughs and splutters beneath It. As It nuzzles her cheeks, the foreign blood on It’s cheeks mixing with hers, It does not realize that the pitiful mewling and keening sounds It is hearing are coming from It’s own chest. They flutter up to the heavens to mix with the wailing of approaching ambulance sirens.  
Pulling It’s face back, It calms as It begins to assess her more clinically. She is bleeding. She is dying. This simply will. Not. Do. It can only destroy. So It must destroy the blood.   
The screaming of the bystanders behind It annoys It and disturbs It’s concentration and with a careless flick of It’s bloody hand, the adults freeze and stare complacently. A quiet and solemn audience to a very dark miracle.  
Placing It’s fingertips upon the gash in Ellie’s stomach, It focuses on her blood vessels. On each and every torn and flawed capillary. And WILLS the bleeding to die. WILLS the destruction of her injuries.   
…………………………………………….......  
Ellie is floating, adrift in a sea of pain. But even this is nothing compared to the eruption of FIRE within her belly. The exquisite agony of FLAME blooms here like a blazing flower perched upon the slopes of hell itself. She screams, yet her jaw does not move. She weeps, yet her eyes are dry. She is motionless in a torrent of blazing DEATH, yet she does not die.   
And then, even her consciousness goes numb. Swirling into the stream of stars surrounding some unfathomable interdimensional world she cannot comprehend. Resting in a dream where she is laughing and tapping the noses of these stars. Sitting in the silken lap of a silent protector. She leans into him and forgets all.  
When her eyes finally open, she sees the white ceiling above her hospital bed in muted light from her bedside table lamp.  
She learns that her survival was impossible. That she should have bled out there in the street. But, for some reason, all of her major bleeding points had been…….. Cauterized. And for some reason, none of these logical minded surgeons are questioning this poignant information.   
But none of these things are what she remembers the most. All she can focus on, even as they are telling her these things, is the dirty clown plush on her bedside table. It smells of sewer and looks as if it has been handled quite a bit. She thought she’d lost it during her conflict with Webby. Thought she’d lost it to the gutter. But here it is. Mottled and grimey and adorable as ever. She could not possibly know how often Pennywise has clutched at it while thinking of her.  
When she gets out of the hospital, she rushes home, knowing she’ll find him there. And she’s right. As she bursts thru her front door, she sees him standing in her living room, hands behind his back. Standing stiffly, as if he’s done something wrong.  
And she just doesn’t care. The joy inside her chest, wrapping around the burn scars upon her belly, is nearly painful in it’s intensity.  
“Pennywise….” She feels tears prickling in her eyes.  
“Ellie.” His periwinkle blue eyes meet hers.   
“I love you.”


	6. Token Pt 4

He sits placidly in the lotus pose. Even in the gloom of her darkening living room, every detail is as clear and bright and new to her as the first time she saw it. Her eyes start from his boots and travel upward.   
The tips of his boots are scuffed and nestled in the silk of his pantaloons atop his knees, the orange puffs she knows are there are not visible with his feet in this position. Her gaze travels to his gloved hands, which are resting palm up just next to each boot. His fingers are curled gently, the pointer fingers just touching the silken tips of his thumbs.   
His head is facing directly forward, tho his eyes are closed. His face is smooth and peaceful. His body isn’t moving at all. Quite noticeable in this quiet place. No human twitching. No breathing. Just a marble statue posing to look like a clown.   
Ellie cannot believe he has consented to this. To sit still and calm and allow her to touch him like this. The clock ticking on her wall sounds like tiny explosions, each click reverberating around her living room, bouncing off of the silvery being before her.   
She drops to her knees, directly before him. He is so tall that, even on her knees, she still has to crane her neck to gaze up at his face. She focuses on his long dark lashes, fanned out over the tops of his cheeks like 2 tiny palm leaves.   
As she reaches towards him her breath catches. She feels like a worm daring to touch some keen and deadly predator. She supposes that’s just what she is. Oh! But what a beautiful predator! And such a foolish worm. Her hand falters and drops. Her head drops, her confidence wilting.  
“Do not be afraid, Ellie.” The rumble of his voice makes every hair upon her body stand on end. “There is much to fear. But not me. Never me.”   
She looks up to his face. Meeting his brilliant blue eyes. Basks in the bottomless glow before she watches the pale lids glide down once again to close them. Then reaches forward again. And falters again.  
But this time, a gloved hand snaps forward, the long fingers wrapping around her wrist, soft yet vice like. She doesn’t struggle, but pulls against him softly as he mercilessly places her open, trembling hand upon his chest, as if the silk here might burn her skin. They sit like this for some time. The clown holding her hand firm and the girl slowly calming, the quaking in her hands slowly subsiding.   
After he has decided that she’ll not pull away, he releases her wrist and returns his hand to it’s original pose, his face still relaxed and his eyes still closed.   
His flesh, under the suit, feels cool and iron like, the lean muscle and sinew contrasting with the smooth thick silk of his doublet. She runs her finger tips up and down, pressing in to feel the ribs, her thumb brushing one of the orange puffs. Her throat feels so dry that she coughs. He doesn’t react. Gingerly, she lifts the other hand, which had been sitting numbly in her lap, to join it’s sister in exploring his chest.   
Her heart thunders so loudly that she can no longer hear the ticking of her clock. The air in her living room suddenly feels icy, and her skin prickles with gooseflesh. She doesn’t realize her lower lip is quivering. She doesn’t realize her eyes are tearing until a falsely warm drop slides down her cheek.   
The clown's nostrils flare and she feels his chest expand rapidly. Once. Twice. He’s scenting her.  
“Not fear. But so similar.” His words confirm her thoughts.   
“I’m nervous, Penny.” Her voice cracks from dryness.   
“Why?” His voice is a comfortable rumble.  
“Because…… you’re REAL. All this time. All these years. I KNEW but I somehow still didn’t believe. But here you are. With me.” This confession spurs a flash of bravery as her hands leave his chest, her finger tips trailing down the soft silk of his arms. She feels the hot sting of more tears upon her cheeks as she continues.  
“Don’t you understand? When I was a little girl, I believed in magic. I believed angels were real. I believed that my will alone could make things change. I even believed I could fly! But then life happened. Darkness and pain. Lies and deceit. Survival. And I lost that belief. I grew up. Oh, don’t you see?? If you’re REAL……… then that means that MAGIC is real.”  
Her heart thunders on as Pennywise responds to her words, and her tailing finger tips, only by slowly raising his forearms, spreading his long fingers, his palms facing her. She gulps down anxious bile and places her palms against his. And they sit like this. Very still. The girl breathing shallowly. The eldritch clown not breathing at all. Touching palms. And Ellie’s knees press against his shins as she leans forward, sliding her fingers down between his. He responds in kind, entwining his fingers with her own.  
Only the sore cramping in her cheeks tells Ellie that her face is creased in an enormous smile. She’s holding hands with her sewer angel. And she’s crying.   
As her gaze settles upon his face, she feels her breath catch. His eyes are no longer closed. His expression is solemn and watchful. His periwinkle blue eyes are……. Almost soulful…….. As he watches her.   
It is now that he moves, still very slowly, unwrapping the fingers of one hand from hers and reaching for her face. Time itself seems to freeze as Ellie feels his palm cup her chin. Every nerve ending in her skin seems to take on its own static life as she feels the silk of his glove brush along her jaw bone. As his finger tips stretch along one cheek and his thumb along the other.  
“I can see your thoughts, Ellie. They are disjointed and strange. A dream. I, myself, enjoy dreams.” For a moment, his gaze is vacant. Looking thru her, into another time. Another reality. “You will stay, won’t you Ellie? You will stay in my Derry?” His gaze bores into her own.  
She simply cannot speak as her emotions twirl and clench at her heart. His wide eyed gaze is childlike and lonely.  
“Stay?” It is not a command, but a supplication. “I have existed longer than your mind could ever comprehend. I am not human. I kill and feast and dance. I am the Eater of Worlds little Ellie. I’ve giggled at sobbing mothers while slurping the marrow from the bones of their tender babies. I have watched races die and new races emerge from their dusty graves. I have watched, in idle boredom, as stars sputtered their death song.” The blue of his irises bursts into burning gold as he speaks. Saliva dribbles from his plump lips as the tiniest snippets of his memories are laid bare before her.   
A tingling sensation flutters within the contact of his hand with her skin. Her vision disjoints. She gazes upon Pennywise before her. Yet, when her eyes close, she can see flashes of these things he speaks of. Only for these images to fade as she opens her eyes again.   
It is as if she’s existing in 2 places at once. The reality of this beautiful being before her, in the fading light of her living room. And the shadowy realm of the eternal dreams of his long rests whenever her lids close. But she is not afraid. He continues.  
“I have seen many things, Ellie. Felt many sensations. But I have never felt this. I have never felt this desire for my presence. And it is very pleasant. I do not wish for this sensation to cease. Stay? Stay with me?” He breaks the contact with her by removing his hand from her chin and folding it, with the other hand, in his lap. And watches her expectantly.   
She realizes she is leaning forward so far that she’s nearly losing balance. As if her body has begun to gravitate towards his. She feels empty somehow without those visions of his dreams that she’d seen as he’d touched her. The dawning realization that he had CHOSEN to share those images with her leaves her breathless, the tears now flowing freely now.   
“Pennywise,” her voice is unsteady as she speaks. “I’d rather die than leave this place. I have nothing left outside of this place. Outside of you. You’ve saved my life literally every time I’ve seen you. That’s more than any person has ever cared to do. I don’t care about what you’ve done. I don’t CARE. I LOVE you. I always have. I always will.” The desperate need to express this to him overrides her nervousness.   
He tilts his head at her, the gold in his eyes returning to their gentle blue.   
“I do not know that I can love, child. The emotion is a meaningless concept to me. Or at least, it always was….” His sentence is cut off as, with the most sudden impulse she’s ever had, she leans forward, extending as far up as she can on her knees, to kiss him.   
He stiffens and she feels his large hands grip her waist as her arms snake around his neck. The material of his neck ruff pricks and tickles her skin. His lips do not respond as she presses her own to them, but they are soft and compliant. He allows this action although it is obvious that he’s unsure of what he should be doing in response. She feels the nervousness overwhelm her as she goes to pull away.   
Then, she feels his palm on the back of her head now, as he applies gentle pressure to keep her in place. And slowly, with great care, as if she were made of the most delicate material, he returns her kiss. It is sloppy and wet and inexperienced and wonderful. And when he finally pulls away, she can feel her tears mixing with the saliva upon her own chin.   
“Ellie……. Stay?” Again the question.  
“Yes. I will stay.”


	7. Pasty Slasher Headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yup. Alcohol involved.

So I’m drunk and I’m thinking of slasher dicc (big surprise right???) And I’m remembering a time I tried to act sexy with pasties on my tits and went to shake em and a pasty flew off and hit the ole S/O in the face. Hurt like a mf and was hilarious. So….. Here’s some headcanons of the slashers reactions to this.  
Pennywise  
• Wall eye extraordinaire here.   
• Clown boi is gonna be like “what in the actual fuck?”  
• He’s gonna pick the pasty up and kinda just…..   
• ????????????  
Michael Myers  
• You were wearing pasties?   
• Who fuckn cares.  
Jason Voorhees  
• Brightest reddest blush under the mask.  
• He can’t even imagine WHY you’d even deem it fit to WEAR these things in the FIRST place.  
• What sort of woman even DOES these things???  
• Refuses to touch the fallen pasty.  
Freddy Krueger  
• This guy is gonna LAUGH till the cows come home.  
• That awkward “whoops” moment?? HILARIOUS  
• Will literally reference this tragedy every time he sees your tits for the next thousand years   
• And laugh every time  
Brahms Heelshire  
• Still fuckn horny.  
• He don’t care.  
• “Where were you hiding these, (Y/N)?????”  
• Kiss that pasty good bye. It’s his now.  
• Wall rat still gonna high key bang.  
Bubba Sawyer  
• Another blusher.   
• Precious boy will prolly try to reapply the pasty for you.  
• Won’t laugh at all if he thinks it’s awkward for you.  
• Put your tits in his face.  
• He deserves it.  
Buddi  
• Another reapplication.  
• This boi just wants you to feel GOOD about yourself.   
• Will tell you that you’re beautiful no matter what you’re wearing.  
• Love this boi please.


	8. Energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just nastY bloody smut. *shrugs shoulders*

Wet sloshing sounds reverberate in the sewer. The sounds of your desperate panting fill your head in a twisting rhythm that intertwines with the pounding of your heart and fuels your muscles to power onward.  
Over all of this, you can still hear the laughter ringing out behind you. It breeds fear in your chest. Fear. And other things. Excitement. Adrenaline. Sheer energy which burns in flames inside your belly. Inside your core. Tears flow down your face as breathless laughter flits from your lips.   
Your sodden shoes feel like bricks upon your feet in the grey water. So you kick them off. This action causes you to stumble and your arms flail helplessly as they instinctively seek something to hold. To right yourself.   
It is the slimy wall of the sewer passage which they land upon. You feel sludge accumulate under your nails as they scrape across the cold clammy surface, seeking purchase. Your body pauses precariously, your abdominal muscles straining to maintain your balance, as you reach down and, one by one, claw the sopping socks from your feet. You could step on a rock. You could step on glass shards. You could step directly into the jaws of the darkest monster. And you do not care.  
You spread your arms as you run now. Letting your panicked laughter fly back to your pursuer. Perhaps you’ll get die. Perhaps you’ll go insane. Maybe……… you are already insane. You are lost in so many ways. Lost to your purpose. Lost to humanity. Lost in this sewer. Lost to the cacophony of emotion that just being here evokes within you. And, in the darkest recesses of your heart….. In the most feral and primitive part of your soul……. You LOVE this.   
You have never felt so ALIVE in your life. So free.   
The memory of just under an hour ago feels as if it is an eternity ago. As you’d woken up on top of a decayed wooden platform in the middle of a pool of water. As you’d first laid eyes on your captor. As your ears had prickled when he’d told you that you belong to him now.   
Every fiber of your willful nature had reared itself in indignant laughter, which had poured fourth from your chest to assault the clown…… Pennywise…….. Right in his wicked and beautiful face.   
You had not paused. You had not listened. You had not cowered. You had run. As you are running now. And if he catches up? You will stop then yes. You will stop. You will turn. And you will FIGHT. Because fighting is what you are best at. Because fighting is all you know. Never, in all of your life, have you ever given up. And you refuse to give up now. To give in.   
Yet your mind knows he will catch up. Knows that he will win. Knows that he will make you submit. And you WANT him to. You WANT this submission. And yet your body continues to pump your legs mercilessly forward. Your basic survival instincts have always served you well and they simply will not be ignored now.   
Laughter sounds out again behind you, blending with your own laughter. He’s enjoying this chase just as much as you are. You can feel your own energy throb and weaken as he feeds off of your animal fear. And you feel that energy being simultaneously replenished from your molten core. Your body is wired tighter than the hammer of a new revolver. Your sex is alight with the most intense and throbbing arousal you have ever felt.   
You are being hunted. Yet the prey seems to be willing fodder for the carnivore. You are as a marionette, joyously dancing for your puppeteer, swaying and running and performing to his wishes, never realizing that your strings have already been cut. That you are dancing of your own accord. For this feeling. This energy. For him.   
Your lungs burn from exertion as you turn a corner and slam bodily into a dead end. There seems to be very little light, yet your adrenaline filled eyes can still discern shapes in the darkness. The sparkling reflects on the grimy walls from the water, very muted in the darkness. The force of the impact dazes you as your body turns in jerking motions to lean back against the wall.   
There will be no more running.   
And he’s not making you wait. Even as your chest heaves with the sheer effort, a pumping billows to help you regain your breath, he’s stepping slowly out of the gloom. His brows are furrowed, his eyes flash vermilion, his slavering fangs are laid bare on either side of his buck teeth, and he appears like a painted Victorian demon, come to claim his prize.   
Your fierce and stubborn heart makes you respond in kind. You bare your blunt human teeth and roar as you raise your balled fists. Your quivering thighs ripple as you widen your stance. Swiping wet hair out of your eyes, as they narrow upon him.   
He pauses then, tilting his head at you, his upper lip curling as saliva dribbles out and drips into the sewer water. You can’t tell if he’s disgusted or impressed by your impish bravery.   
“Ssshhhhhhh. Hush that heart. You are mine. Now come to me.” He spreads his arms wide. “Or I shall take you.”   
Your vision blurs with impudent rage as you do just as he says. Pushing off from the wall, you charge at him. His face, in the last milliseconds before your fist connects with it, radiates a shocked expression which tells you that he has not expected you to react in this way.   
The right hook is solid and clean. Blood erupts from his nose and a satisfying crunch is heard as your knuckles break his nose. You do not stop to wonder why his blood floats away in spinning droplets as you rush past his flailing arms. You can see the open tunnel behind it and your body, your very being, races towards it.  
Then you feel a gloved hand on your ankle. The grip is silky soft yet akin to a steel manacle. You are stopped so quickly that you are planted face first into shin deep grey water. This temporary underwater experience is ethereal as you feel the cold water flow up your body. You are being dragged backwards. Water rushes up your nostrils and your lungs burn as they instinctively inhale water, trying to sneeze.   
You then feel a firm grip upon your shirt, at your side, as your body is wrenched around to face upward. Your face breaks the water and you cough and splutter on the fetid taste as your chest attempts to rid itself of the inhaled fluid.   
Pennywise is crouched above you, his feet planted at either side of your body. You can feel his calves flex upon your sides as he reaches down to grip your shirt collar and pull your face up very close to his. His cheeks and brows are splattered with his alien buoyant blood, from his misshapen nose.   
You feel hot air against your own face as his jaws open wide and he full on roars. The deafening sound doesn’t even phase you as you watch his nose heal, the blood seeping back up into it as it reshapes itself into it’s original button shape. The scent of his breath is like an instant jolt of childhood memory. Buttery popcorn. Spun sugar of cotton candy. The crisp waft of static electricity. Brimstone. Death. You can only watch in wide eyed awe.   
He concludes this roar with a metallic clipping sound as his jaws close and his teeth snap together. He shakes his head sending cold droplets of water from his sodden hair to mix with his hot spittle to land upon your lips and cheeks. The merry sound of his bells is a strange contrast to this.   
He then stills, his bunched fist in your shirt holding you suspended still, as he glares down at you. Perhaps this shall be the moment of your death. For attempting to usurp him. For hurting him. And yet you feel no fear now.   
His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, as his cruel expression softens. He brings his other hand up to run a wet silk fingertip down your cheek. His lips purse in curiosity as a droplet of saliva gathers upon his lower lip. You watch it shimmer.   
You hear small ripping sounds and suddenly the feeling of silk is replaced by the sharp tip of a claw being dragged across your panting lips.   
Without warning, your shirt collar tightens dangerously, as he yanks your lips to his. You gasp as fangs draw blood from your mouth. He’s kissing you roughly and mercilessly. The metallic taste of your blood blends seamlessly with the candied apple alien taste of his saliva.   
His body stiffens as you, once again, react in a way in which he does not expect. An airy snarl pours from your throat into his as you wrap your arms around his neck, your hands fisting into the sodden material of his neck ruff, pulling yourself into his kiss, pressing your soft flesh even further into the painful pricking of his fangs.  
You snake a hand up into his dripping hair, attempting to rotate his head so that you can deepen the kiss even further. He allows this, a strangled rumbling growl vibrating within his chest. You brush your tongue against his bloody teeth and he obliges you, opening his jaws further to allow your tongue to swipe behind those bladed fangs. Your eyes remain open, fixed upon that crimson gaze.   
You feel his claws scrape your scalp, as he grasps your hair and yanks your face from his. You both are motionless for a moment. You admire your blood, tipping his fangs, as you feel warm droplets of the stuff cascade down your chin. His grip, upon your hair, is iron tight.   
Then, he drops you and the icy water closing over your face shocks your system, as you feel him grasping the hem of your pants, dragging your whole body from the bottom of the sewer. You feel your hair dragging thru the water, the coldness of it kissing your scalp, before he tosses your body up and out. Over several feet. The wind is knocked from you as your body collides with a raised surface you had not noticed before. It is not dry. But it is above the water level.   
He gives no pause, pouncing upon your shivering body. You feel his fangs scrape your belly as he bites the hem of your pants, shaking his head like a dog worrying an old piece of leather. Your body is airborne again and flailing with the shaking motions of this. Until the seams of your pants give way and the fabric is torn from you. He does not bother with complete removal and the intact legs of your pants tangle around your naked ankles. Your panties are no challenge at all to the same ministrations, tearing away like paper. The cool air hitting your pussy makes you cry out.   
He rocks back upon his knees to watch you scramble clumsily to remove your shirt and bra. You are successful but your tangled pants fetter your ankles and you lose balance, falling down again onto your belly.   
You gaze over your shoulder to watch his eyes feast upon your form. He’s looking at you as if you are a well braised and finely seasoned piece of flesh. Hungry. Starving. He slowly uses a single claw to finish pulling your pants off of your ankles, one by one. Till you are naked and shivering before him.   
You do not wait for his next move. You raise to your own knees, meeting his gaze almost haughtily. Shameless in a way you have never been. His mouth creases in a wicked smile.   
“You nasty little thing. All hot and wet and covered in shit water for Pennywise. My little sewer baby. My fuck toy. I shall enjoy breaking you.”  
You feel ire bubbling in your veins, heating your chilled blood.  
“Break THIS!” And you tackle him.   
You feel a feral and lusty rage fuel your tired muscles as you bite into the stiff flesh under his jaw bone. You claw and dig at his doublet, ripping an orange puff off in your frenzy. He is bowled over by your energetic movement. But the stiff and firm tightening of his muscles tells you he is merely ALLOWING you to push him over. This fuels your rage even more as you pin him to the damp ground.   
His growling radiates pleasured sounds at the pressure of your teeth under his jaw. But your inferior human teeth cannot break his skin. You’re straddling him and your will is helpless to the wanton thrusting of your hips as you try to find friction by grinding your pussy into his silken crotch.  
“So helpless. So ready to breed. Yes. Find your pleasure, my little human.” His chuckling growls flow from his throat to vibrate your lips.  
And you can take no more. Here, in this chill sewer, underneath the streets of Derry, astride an eldritch God, your will breaks. His hands merely rest upon your hips as you buck helplessly, he is forcing you to do NOTHING. Yet, you SUBMIT.   
“Please….” You feel hot tears of helpless rage filled lust leak out from your clenched eyelids to flow down your cheeks as your teeth release his flesh. “Fuck me, Pennywise.”  
“Say it.” His voice is a deadly hiss. “Tell me whom you belong to, (Y/N).” His hips thrust experimentally, rubbing the silk of his pantaloons along your slit, scraping the sensitive bud of your clit.   
You cry out as you reach your hands up to dig your nails into his cheeks. He chuckles, unfazed. “Say it.”  
“Yours. I am yours. I belong to Pennywise. Please.” Your voice is a cracked humanoid snarl.   
The world spins as the clown grasps your waist with one hand, and cradles your head with the other, flipping your body to lay upon the ground. He then gently wipes your wet hair from your face.   
“Now….. (Y/N). I want you to beg me. Beg Pennywise to break you.”   
The enraged rebuttal dies at your lips as you feel a thick appendage emerge from his pantaloons to slide and tease your clit thru the folds of your pussy. You groan as you feel the moisture of it mix with your juices to coat your thighs.   
“Please, Pennywise. Break me. Kill me. I don’t even care anymore. I’m yours. I belong to you. Oh…… PLEASE!” You wriggle your hips helplessly, trying to open yourself further for him.  
With your unabridged submission, he teases no longer, thrusting into you with a feral demonic gurgling growl. Setting a beastly pace, he does not even attempt to be gentle. Your core is filled with a burning pain and you scream even as your nails dig into his ass cheeks to try to press him deeper with each thrust.   
His affect does not match his performance. As he brutally fucks you into the ground, he nuzzles into your neck, murmuring to you.   
Some words you understand.  
Beautiful. Strong. Brave. Special.  
Some words you only recognize as foreign dialects.  
And still others are so alien you know that no human could ever pronounce them.   
He is crooning to you. Whispering of your body and of your soul. Gentle with his speech as his hips nearly break yours. Binding you to him with vocalizations of adoration as he destroys your aching body.   
And you come undone. Screaming your submission into the cold dark of the sewer as your muscles clench around him in the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.   
You are still in the throws of this when you feel his fangs sink into the soft flesh of your shoulder. The sweet burning agony only fuels your keening climax as you feel your pouring blood bubble around his monstrous roar as his cock wriggles and bursts hot cum into your hungry cunt.   
As his teeth retract and slide out of your flesh, you feel your body go limp. You are absolutely exhausted and cannot even move. Free prey. He could kill you now and you would not be able to lift a finger.  
But he does not do this. Instead, he gazes down at you, his face smooth, his eyes a glowing periwinkle blue. He pulls out of you and crouches over you, running pristine and dry gloved fingertips over the myriad bruises and wounds upon your body.  
The bastard is clean and dry and as perfect as the first time you had laid eyes on him and you are simply too tired to question HOW.   
Instead you reach for him with trembling arms which bloom different shades of blue and purple marks.   
He leans down to allow you to drape your arms around his shoulders. Standing and lifting you effortlessly to cradle you very much like a sleepy child. He leans down to growl a single word.  
“MINE.”  
“Yours.” You pass out then, completely unaware as he walks slowly back into the darkness of the sewer.


	9. Playing With Bob Gray

Leah runs her finger tips down the front of her pleated skirt, smoothing the material here as she watches the scene before her. A strong man. A massive mountain of sweating flesh, straining and groaning as he hoists the massive circular atlas stone over his shoulder. Crumbled white powder dusts from his hands as they slide along the surface. He is a little frightening with the intensity of his facial expressions as he projects this supreme effort.   
Leah turns from the scene to take in the rest of the circus. At least what she can see from where she stands. There is so much to see. So many things to take in.   
It is July in 1912, a bustling productive year in Derry history. Ripe with historical importance. The nation has only just begun to get over the reeling blow of the sinking of the Titanic. Wireless communication has begun to open the farthest reaches of the globe to the rest of the world. Thru the power of steel and steam and the bustle of industry it seems as if humanity has reached the peak of its existence.   
But none of this enters Leah's mind. She is solely focused on the cacophony of noise and color which seems to explode and twist before her very eyes. Everything she could have ever imagined, as well as some things she's sure she could never imagine, are simply strolling by her.  
There are dwarves! She's never seen one before! Dressed in bright colors and tossing flowers and sweets, they skip by her. And there! Not 20 feet from her, a weazened man leading a trundling kangaroo on a leash. The creature appears careworn and bored. And upon its front paws are tied a pair of boxing gloves. Leah's eyes are saucers as she watches them walk into a small tent with a painting of a man boxing a kangaroo on the side. At first, she feels tempted to follow, but yet even more noise and movement catches her attention and she turns.  
This fresh sight is a little more horrifying than the last. It is a man. Giggling and dancing. His sleeves rolled up above his elbows. Leah watches as he pulls an 18 inch long sharp pin from an oversized pin cushion suspended from a stick that an assistant is carrying. His eyes meet hers and he slows, an intense and maniacal smile splitting his features. He takes the pin and runs its sleek cylindrical form thru the flame of a nearby torch. Then curls his tongue around it and slides the pin along the appendage, the heat from the metal causing steam to rise as well as causing hissing crackling noises. His eyes never leave hers as he then takes this pin and inserts it into one of his naked forearms. All the way thru, bringing his arm across his face so that he might gaze at her from around the protruding point of the pin on the opposite side of his arm. Gasping she turns and flees as fast as propriety will allow her.  
She feels herself growing a bit disoriented and overstimulated as she walks quickly, head low, just trying to get away from the human pin cushion. Losing track of time, she doesn't notice that the stands and tents and throngs of people are growing thinner. She's nearing the edge of the entire affair.   
Stopping to lean against the side of a wagon, she gasps at the tightness of her shirt The heat of a mid July sinking sun causes the garment to feel even more constricting as well as causing little beads of perspiration to form on her skin. The air is hot and stagnant. The scents of exotic animal feces and circus foods are stifling within her flaring nostrils.   
A motion in her peripheral vision makes her lift her head. It is a clown. A clown! She has never seen a clown either! At least not in any other way aside from drawings and circus posters. This one is just as brilliant as any artwork. Bright red hair circles his bald head. His costume flares triumphantly around him in a yellow cascade of pluming silk. The silk around his arms is lined with purple and green stripes. And he's smoking a fat cigar, the great purplish puffs of smoke curling up his white cheeks and red circular nose. The garish black lines over his eyes are relaxed. He looks so very bored.   
Leah is still a little disturbed from the human pin cushion so the vision of this human that does not look human brings that discomfort back full force. She freezes, hoping the clown will not notice her.   
And he doesn't. Taking one last suck off the brown cylinder, he crushes the burning end against the side of a wagon, effectively stubbing it out, and stalks off out of Leah's vision.   
It is now that Leah notices all the wagons. Parked discreetly at the periphery of the circus, they go unnoticed by most of the patrons. Holding things like beds and supplies, they are the spine and bones of this place.   
Leah reads the painted side of the wagon that the clown had been leaning against.   
MILDRED THE ONE TON WOMAN  
And below that a painted caricature of a morbidly obese woman laying in repose and suggestively licking her fingers. Leah feels a blush creep up her neck to paint her cheeks a delicate pink which mingles with the flush from the heat. She chooses not to think of what that clown must have been doing near that wagon.  
She finds that each wagon has a painting of its inhabitants on the side. One for the dwarves. One for the wolf girl. One for the jugglers. She even sees the wagon for that awful human pin cushion.  
But it is the wagon set furthest back that truly catches her eye and holds its attention. Upon it is the ghostly face of a clown. But the face paint is even more disturbing than the clown she'd seen earlier. Twin lines cut up over his cheeks and thru his eyes. The clown wears a large buck toothed smile. And the ornate words are very commanding in sparkling gold paint.  
PENNYWISE THE DANCING CLOWN  
The afternoon light is now beginning to fade into evening. And in the lower light, Leah can see the soft glow of lantern light coming from the open door of this wagon.. As she approaches she passes a sign nailed onto the side of another wagon.  
No visitors beyond this point.   
Feeling curious and naughty, Leah turns her head in all directions. Slowly looking to see if anyone is watching. The lateness of the hour means that a lot of the guests are leaving. Or at least this is what she assumes as, although she can hear the sounds of people beyond the wagons, not a living soul greets her vision here. She leans over and slowly removes each of her leather shoes, careful to be as quiet as possible. Then she tip toes over the dry brown grass towards the beacon of light which is that open doorway.   
Her first sight, as she gazes into the door, is disappointing at first. There appears to be no one here. It is a good sized wagon. And she can see a large bed over in the far corner. And there is a rack of clothing in the middle of the wagon that impedes her vision of the rest of that side. Soft music floats up from a gramophone next to the very door she is peeking thru.   
She is nearly ready to turn and scamper back to the throngs of people when she hears a sound coming from the other side of the clothing rack. Like a hard object clicking against a table top. And….. Humming! There is someone humming back there! The voice is raspy and out of tune, but soft enough to explain why she'd not heard it at first over the music.   
She should leave. She needs to leave. She knows she should not be here. And as she places her sock clad toes upon the first step leading into the wagon, her heart thunders with the adrenaline only a precocious person, who knows they are being mischievous, can produce. Excitement bubbles thru her very finger tips as she enters the wagon. The air is strangely much cooler in here than it is outside. She had expected it to be stifling and enclosed and hot.  
She pads as quietly as she can, around the clothing rack and, dropping into a very unladylike crouch, peeks her head stealthily around the last piece of clothing between herself and her quarry. What she sees makes her mouth go dry.   
It's a very broad set of shoulders. Naked and tapering into a slender waist. A thin sheen of sweat makes the skin on the man's back glisten. A few stray droplets accumulate to trail down into the hem of his trousers. His suspenders crease the flesh bilaterally down his back. He's hunched over, concentrating on whatever is on the table before him.   
As he sits up, rocking back slightly on the stool he is sitting upon, his face becomes visible in the mirror before him. Leah's blood turns to nervous ice in her veins. If he looks. If he merely stops focusing solely on what he's doing. If she so much as flinches. He will see her, crouching there, peeping with a blush upon his flesh like some wanton wild animal. What had she been THINKING sneaking in here like this??? This is the very most improper behavior she can possibly think of! Still, she must not move. Must hold perfectly still and watch this scene unfold.  
She focuses on the slightly blurred reflection of the man's face. And heat returns to her blood. And not ONLY her blood. He has the most piercing blue eyes she has ever seen. His brow is very prominent, lending a severity to his features that she's never seen before. Buck teeth rest on a lush lower lip underneath his nose. His jaw line is angled and sharp. He looks dangerous and devilish. And he's a very large man. And strong based off the lean muscle roping and bunching upon his back as his arms move. He appears to be mixing something that she cannot see.  
This doesn't remain a mystery for long, as the man brings a short thick brush to his face and spreads a thick white line of paint from his wide forehead, around his temple, and then down his cheek to his chin. His mouth widens, stretching his lips over his teeth, distorting his humming even more, as he uses the brush to begin working the paint over that side of his face.  
It is at this point that, her shoes, hanging forgotten till this moment from her hooked forefinger and middle finger, begin to slip from her grasp. Instinctively, her palm curls and she yanks her hand to her chest, wrapping her other arm around both shoes. She looks back up to the man, fully expecting to have been caught. But he's still working face paint under his eye. That was close! Too close! Leah takes in those broad shoulders one last time, shivering underneath her dress from something other than cold. Then slowly backs away around the clothes rack. She feels relief wash over her as she realizes she's no longer in his vision. All she's gotta do is just tip toe back over to that door and then she's a free bird.  
Time seems to slow to a horrifying crawl, as she watches the door begin to swing closed. The thing opens towards the interior of the wagon so Leah can clearly see that no mortal hand is closing it. Throwing caution to the wind, she stands and full on sprints towards the shrinking line of twilight sky visible around the edges of the closing door. She knows the very moment that she will not make it. Electric bolts of numbing terror shoot thru her limbs. Her mouth widens, teeth bared, in a silent scream of sheer horror. Her lungs wheeze from an extra jolt of adrenaline laced energy. But it is to no avail. And she knows this. Even before the click of the handle into the door frame announces that she's closed in, she instinctively knows that It will be locked.   
And as her hands fumble with the knob and feel no turning nor give, she feels the first fearful tears leave her eyes.  
And then a raspy voice rings out behind her.  
"Hello Leah. Come to play with ole Bob Gray?"   
Leah turns, her hands flailing behind her. One still struggling uselessly to turn the doorknob. The other raking nails against the solid wood grains of the door, her shoes clattering to the floor and very much forgotten. Her body stands upon tip toes, leaning back, as if instinctively trying to use her weight to somehow break thru the door.   
And there before her, so tall that even at this distance of several feet she must crane her head, stands the man who had been sitting in front of a mirror applying paint to his face mere moments ago. His back is hunched slightly as if his very being is being restrained from pouncing on her. He's rubbing his long thin hands together as if he's preparing to experience some sort of victory. His lower lip droops obscenely as he grins at her. A thin line of spittle runs from this lip, as if he is slavering at the scent of a sumptuous feast. His brows are creased even further over those haunting eagle like eyes. In this moment, he does not look entirely HUMAN.  
"I'm so sorry!" Leah stammers. "I….. I didn't mean to intrude. I was just curious. I'll leave right away. I promise!"   
With each quivering word, the man's….. Bob's…….. Drooling too wide smile grows ever more wide. Baring more and more crooked teeth. He's now rubbing his hands so tightly that Leah can hear popping sounds arising from his knuckles.   
"Oh. You're not going anywhere Leah. Not yet. We haven't even begun to play." His voice is something between a hiss and a growl, and spittle flies upon the 'play'. Leah openly gasps as he jerks a large foot forward, taking a step towards her. He's hunching even more now, and it's quite obvious that he's preparing to spring if she tries to get around him. But why even try? Without a way out of the door behind her, there's really nowhere to go.   
Still, Leah simply cannot stand by. Her skin is alight with electric adrenaline. She takes a small step to the right, testing him. Bob responds by tilting his head at her and advancing another step. His grin is so wide now that it shall surely split his face in 2. She feigns another step to the right before attempting to actually go left. Her very blood is screaming although her lips emit only desperate panting.   
She doesn't get far. She feels his hand around her wrist, cold and vice like. So large that her own hand is engulfed. The door knob strikes her back as Bob shoves her into the door, making her cry out. Keeping his hand around her wrist, he pulls it above her head, bringing his large body flush with hers. She can feel the lean iron like musculature of him thru her clothes. Can feel her clothes sticking to the sweat upon him. She reaches up, pressing her free palm against his chest to try to push him away. A cracking hyena like laugh erupts from him as he snatches up this free hand and pulls it effortlessly up to its twin. He uses only one hand to trap her smaller hands there. Using his free hand, he cups her face and pushes it upward so that her eyes meet his own.   
"Oh but you're a pretty one, Leah. Let me introduce myself properly. Name's Robert Gray. Friends call me Bobby." At this his hand leaves her face to trail finger tips down her neck and along the neck line of her blouse, those eyes never leaving hers. "You liked watching ole Bob, didn't you?"  
Leah's throat feels so dry that all she can do is shake her head vehemently. Yet, even as she does so she knows very well how her gaze had lingered upon his naked back. And she can feel quite plainly, how her nipples harden at the contact with him, even if it is thru clothing.   
"HA! You lying little girl! I saw you watching me. I saw how your eyes widened and your mouth open. I could smell your little cunt getting all ripe for me." Bob's voice drops to a dark growl. "Just like I can smell it now."  
"N-no!" That is all her voice can manage to squeak out before Bob's once gentle fingers close around her throat, his steep brows narrowing into a menacing glare. Spittle drips from his bared teeth, and his rough voice is a snarl steeped in fury.   
“Stop lying to me, you filthy whore." His other heavy palm, without warning or preamble, lets her go and cups Leah roughly over her skirt. The fabric gives in easily. Leah gasps, cut off as Bob's hand tightens around her throat for a brief, horrifying moment before he releases her. And yet her body betrays her, her hips canting to seek more of his touch. Bob’s lips curl up, his grin more like a lion baring its fangs than an actual smile. “Like a bitch in heat. Don’t have to feel your pretty cunt to know you’re dripping for my cock.”  
She is sure, when he leans in, that he is about to force his mouth upon hers. Instead, he grips her chin and drags his tongue over Leah’s cheek. Tasting the fear and revulsion of her trembling form. Tasting the salty tears that cling to her lashes. She whimpers. Hints of rough stubble scratch against her skin, leaving behind patches of white from his makeup.   
“Dry those tears, girlie,” he rasps. Bob pulls back enough to see Leah's face. Still grasping her chin, he tilts her head to bore those piercing blue eyes into her. And rakes them lasciviously over the rest of her figure as he licks his lips. ”Your body knows what it wants. Girls like you, lookin' so prim and proper?" His large hands shoot out to grasp her hips, yank her flush against his pelvis. "They always crave the same fuckin’ thing."  
Leah's chin drops to her chest, her forehead resting against his own iron hard chest, not wanting to look at him anymore.   
"D'aaaww." Bob pats her head. His voice is laced with sarcasm and malice. "Do you wanna leave? Too scared to play?"  
Leah does indeed wish to to leave. But she cannot bring herself to affirm this. His skin is quite cool against her forehead. She cannot feel a heartbeat but she supposes this is because her own heart is drowning out the noise. The flesh under her own begins to thrum with a male growl as Bob slips his hands down her body to massage the globes of her ass thru her skirt. The movement is not gentle. He's digging his nails in and squeezing harshly, spreading them far apart and then crushing them together slowly only to repeat these actions once more. The movement this causes on the tender folds of her sex causes a foreign friction which increases her breathing and begins a slow simmering heat in her core.  
"Oh you like this." Bob's voice is now dripping with malicious glee as he spreads her ass cheeks so wide she can feel cool air upon the wet inner folds of her pussy. "So ready for me, I don't even have to touch your hot little cunt to prime it."  
He brings one large palm down upon her ass in a sudden whip-like crack. Leah yelps, more from surprise than pain, while Bob growls wickedly. His nails dig into her posterior and suddenly she’s lifted bodily, her legs flying instinctively around his slim hips. He carries her with ease to his desk and sweeps away the clutter before he drops her unceremoniously onto it, arranging her so she is lying across the surface.  
“Enough toying,” he tells her. He fumbles with the buckle on his belt, and Leah cannot tear her eyes away. Cannot even swallow around the lump in her throat while Bob slips the band through. “Ol’ Bob is feeling generous.”  
A soft squeak falls from Leah’s lips once he frees himself. She instinctively tries to turn her face away and feels his fingers like iron bands clamp around her jaw bone. He uses a thumb on one of her cheeks, and his forefinger on the other to press the tender flesh between her teeth, forcing her mouth open. He rubs the tip of his cock around her lips, smearing it in the white paint on her cheeks before running it along her teeth.   
"I'm gonna fuck your pretty little mouth, Leah. And if you are a naughty little biting bitch……. I'll make you pray and scream and BEG me for death. Do you understand?"   
Leah cannot move her face in his iron grip, but tries to nod anyway. He feels the movement and, without further preamble, slides his considerable length into her mouth. He shows absolutely no mercy, and Leah gags around the head as he sets a steady pace. She finds it difficult to breathe and her face flushes with the effort of trying to find that breath between his thrusts.   
He grunts with every motion. Leah’s eyes water, but Bob pays her no mind, dragging his cock along her tongue before pushing back deep into her throat. She writhes, but it is not at the need to escape or the need for air. Obscene, slick sounds fill the room, bouncing around the four walls of the wagon. Leah would blush had she the presence of mind.  
“Yeah. Good girl. Massaging my cock like that.” His voice almost sounds inhuman; beastly and guttural. He pulls out just enough to allow her to breathe, leaving the head resting on her tongue. She can taste the salty tang of pre-cum on her taste buds. He slides back in with a groan, all the way to the hilt. “Fuck, you look so fuckin’ good like this. This is how a lady like you should look. Mouth open and ready to take whatever Bobby iis willing to give her.” She squirms, and he lowers his pitch further into a deep growl. “Nasty, filthy whore.”  
Leah's body jerks as she feels his fingers, almost icy, slide under her skirt, his nails leaving red welts upon her thighs. His fingers brush her slit as they hook into the material of her panties, yanking them roughly to the side.   
"I know you can't see how fucking soaked you are. Let me help you help yourself." His thumb begins to press into her clit as his free hand grasps her wrist and forces her hand down between her legs.   
Leah's core pulsates with a flaming heat and she obeys, sliding her index and middle fingers around his thumb, massaging the sides of her clit as his thumb kneads the middle. It is not long before she is mewling around the cock in her throat. Her hips thrust shamelessly to match the rhythm of Bob's thrusts.   
"Oh you filthy girl." His voice is a hiss. "Such a hungry cunt." He curls his fingers, flexing his palm as he slides 2 inside her. "Look at you! Taking Bobby's pipe like a champ!" The hand around her wrist relaxes and pulls away to cup and squeeze her breasts thru her blouse.   
Leah's thighs quiver as she feels pressure building inside her abdomen. Her hips thrust more erratically and her mind begins to empty of all thoughts save the sensations flaming within her body. Bob's thumb slides up, spreading slick upon her wrist as he thrusts his curled fingers rapidly and presses his palm into her own working fingers, deepening that pressure. Her nipples harden almost painfully as he twists and pinches them, the fabric of her blouse causing almost too much friction. Even the sore burn in her throat from the intrusion of his cock begins to feel strangely pleasing.  
Leah cries out as everything leaves her. Bob has pulled away. And….. She is nearly indignant. Doesn’t WANT it to stop. Her aching pussy is hypersensitive and her hips still thrust blindly.  
"Please….." Her voice is cracked and her throat is sore. She reaches for Bob blindly.  
He wraps his arms around his chest and howls laughter.   
"You are already begging for this dirty cock! Well….. Since you're asking so nicely……" Grasping her forearms, he picks her up as if she weighs nothing, then stands her up. She wobbles helplessly as he spins her then bends her over his table. Her chin smacks painfully upon the wood and the jolt of this upsets a stray bottle which has somehow not previously rolled off. Tipping over, it's contents spill out, coating her fingers with blood red paint. Her forehead presses against the surface of the mirror, leaving smears of white paint and sweat.   
She feels his large hands upon her hips, gasps as his nails dig in and yank her entire body back. Using the brute force of his arms alone, he impales her on his cock, hard, fast, and deep.   
Now it is Leah that emits animal noises. Grunts. Moans. And even mewls as he fucks into her at a pace so ferocious that his entire body is hunched over her. The frame of the mirror smacks into the wall of the wagon in a sharp staccato accompaniment to the rhythm of Bob's hips.   
Leah instinctively closes her eyes as her face begins to be pushed into the mirror. Her hand reaches up to clutch blindly and red paint is smeared across the dull glassy surface.  
"OH NO YOU FUCKING DON'T!" Bob's fingers fist into her hair and he pulls her face up. He leans even further, never breaking his brutal pace, his sweaty cool chest pressing into her back. His free hand wraps around her waist to send probing fingers to pull and press at her clit. She can feel his balls flick against her slit. He presses his lips into the sweaty hair near her ear.  
"Don't you fucking close your eyes, Leah. OPEN THEM."   
She obeys. And the sight which greets her eyes is surreal. There she is. Her face glistening with sweat. Her eyes so wide she can see the whites of them. Her mouth in a very unladylike pleasure laden snarl. The flesh around her hairline is stretched taut from Bob's merciless grip on her hair.   
And Robert Gray himself. His face is fiendish and inhuman. His teeth are bare and set in a fuck ridden grin. The smear of white paint on his face offsets the blue in his eyes. They almost do not look blue. They almost seem to change color.   
"Don't look at me, you little insolent fuck toy. I WANT YOU TO WATCH YOUR WHORE FACE WHILE YOU CUM."  
Her irises roll back to her own reflection. It is twisted and obscene looking with the sweat and paint on the glass. The red paint from her splayed fingers drips down across her reflection, looking almost like blood. And yet still her eyes are drawn back to him.  
His eyes are gold. She is SURE of it now. Even with all the dirt and paint on the mirror, she is still SURE. But this man, this BEAST of a man, and his lopsided gold irises, and his crooked glistening buck teeth……. As her body begins to quiver and shake……. She feels no fear. For a few moments, it is not a balding middle aged perverted clown fucking her into his makeup table. For a few moments, it is as if there is a monster just underneath that skin. As if she is being bred, dominated, mated into submission by some dark and vicious god.   
The last coherent vision is her eyes slowly crossing as her body tightens into the most intense orgasm shes ever felt. So intense it is also painful. It is several moments before she realizes the guttural animal screams she's hearing are her own.   
And Bob's roar of carnal pleasure blends with this scream as Leah feels his hip bones jar one final time into the flesh of her bottom. Her walls contract around the liquid heat of his cum as it spurts into her.   
Leah suddenly feels so exhausted that her knees wobble and collapse. She mildly registers her body coming to rest upon twin arms, which wrap around her form and cradle her like a child. Her body is jostled and pressed into Bob's as he sits on his little stool and looks upon her.  
"Look at how pretty you are. All tired and dripping my cum outta your little fuck hole." The words are a soft growl as his palms tighten upon her body possessively.   
"I wanna go home, Mr Gray. Please….." Leah's voice is slurred and slow.  
"Oh…… but you ARE home now. You're not going anywhere." A very dark chuckle rumbles against her cheek. She's simply too worn out to struggle. He continues, "You're gonna stay right here with ole Bobby."   
Leah winces as his nails drag into her, crushing her even closer into his chest. His next words are a bone chilling whisper into her ear.  
"You're MINE. You were mine the moment you CHOSE to enter MY wagon. MINE."  
Leah shivers, from fear or excitement she does not know. Her mind dully registers the soft music floating from the gramophone. She had utterly forgotten about it.  
She flinches as Bob begins to rock her slowly back and forth, resuming that raspy humming.


	10. Missing Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy af Jason x Reader

The shadow is very large as it cuts across the pale moonlight filtering thru the large open window. Yet the only sounds It makes are the swishing of the gossamer curtains trailing along the body of its caster as they billow in the heavy breeze of the intruding wind.  
You are not asleep. You’d been laying still and with your eyes closed for awhile now. Listening to the chirping of the crickets and groaning frogs around the lake. Listening to the wind as it made the trees crack and rustle and sway. Missing him.   
You can’t explain the feeling of sadness which envelopes your heart. It makes you quiet and sullen. It makes you sleep so many of your days away. Or lay in your bed restless at night while your thoughts spin so fast it seems as if your mind is completely blank, as you are doing this very moment. It feels hollow, yet it hurts. Depression is a bitch.  
At first, Jason had refused to leave your side. He knows what sadness is. Loneliness too. But he simply could not understand how you could feel these things while he himself was so happy to have you here.   
But you had watched his behavior slowly change. He had begun to refuse to look at you. To meet your eyes with his own. He stayed away from this little cabin more and for longer periods of time. He stopped touching you as much. It was gradual, yes. But you’d still noticed as the ‘accidental' hand brushing or even purposeful reassuring hugs and caresses slowly ceased over the past few weeks. He would raise his massive, strong hand only to drop it uncertainly. And then his shoulders would slump.   
He felt guilty. Even now the sting in your heart is just as painful as you remember the very moment you realized that he was pulling away…… for you. Jason Voorhees is a smart man. Quiet. But so intelligent and gods how much you love him! He felt this darkness in you, the slowness of your smile to form, the way it hasn’t seemed to reach your eyes lately…… his keen mind had come to, what seemed to him, the only logical explanation. It must be him. His fault. Your own sadness had made Jason sad. Depression. Is. A. Bitch.  
And the giant man had no idea how to cope with this other than to try to make you endure him less. Anything to keep you from leaving! He simply couldn’t bear to lose you so soon after finding you. And yet……. Maybe leaving is what you want. And the idea breaks his heart.   
You couldn’t possibly know his intentions as he’d crept into your room. Your eyes had been open only slightly. That glimmer of sight thru lashes that, although your eyes appear closed to anyone looking upon them, still allows you to see. And you are nearly as attuned to this cabin and this undead giant of a man as he is to this cabin and to you. So you had seen him as he’d crossed your window, watching you.   
You’re heart had leaped with joy, but you instinctively remained motionless, relaxing your eyes and allowing them to close. You could not possibly know……… Jason intends to tell you that you can leave if you want. He loves you so much that it makes his cold heart feel alive again, but he simply cannot bear to force you to stay where you are unhappy.  
But he just HAS to see you one more time. Relaxed and calm in the repose of sleep. Just one last time.   
You feel the mattress dip and the springs creak under his immense weight as he sits down. You had never heard him cross the room to you. The man moves like a sleek big cat. Silent and deadly. But not to you. And you have never felt less afraid in your entire life. You are laying on your side, facing him. You struggle to calm your fluttering heart and remain entirely motionless.   
Every nerve is alight, straining for him, needing him, in this visionless little pretend sleep. Funny how, just him being near you, he makes you feel just a little better. As always, his calm demeanor seeps into your spirit and your heart calms to a slower beat. Your body trembles as you struggle to hold back tears. You know you had missed him but apparently you hadn’t realized just how much.   
As you feel the unnaturally cool flesh of his index finger brush across your cheek, your heart flutters anew. Your restrain yourself from turning your face into his touch. And then you nearly laugh. Why? Why deny him? Why deny yourself? Stupid anxiety. You open your eyes.   
The moonlight glints off the worn mask on his face, reflecting on the pupil of his good eye. His head is tilted and he looks…… sad. Funny how such an emotion can project so powerfully from only an eye. Or maybe you just know him that well.   
Slowly, you slide your hand out of the sheet covering your body, and press his palm onto your cheek. He normally wears sturdy gloves but right now the cool skin here is bare. His finger inches up and you instinctively close your eye as he runs the pad over the globe of your eye. You feel the hot smudge of liquid as he brushes it from your lashes. So you HAD been crying after all.   
“Jason.” His mask shifts. “Sweet fuck I’ve missed you so much.” His eye widens as you speak.  
You rise and throw your arms around his broad shoulders, reveling in the taught play of muscle underneath his coat, emotionally bathing in the earthy wild scent which is unique to your undead man. And finally letting the pent up tears flow.  
He stiffens momentarily in surprise, before relaxing into you. You thrill at the embrace of his arms as he wraps them around you. His mask is cool and soothing on your temple as he presses his face into yours. You feel his chest heave as he too takes in your smell.   
He remains motionless like this as you cry and blubber out apologies. As you try to explain that none of this is, in any way, his fault. That you love him. That you wouldn’t ever want to be anywhere but right here with him. You will never know of his relief and joy at your words.  
He pulls you away from him and stifles your words with a finger over your lips. He then brushes that finger over your cheek and cups your face, now running his thumb over your lips. Just watching you.   
Impulsively you lift your hands to his mask, hooking your fingers into the straps which secure it. Now he trembles. The sight of this massive guy trembling might have been hilarious to anyone else. But not to you.   
He rarely removes his mask. And you have never tried. You know how self conscious he is about his face. It took months for him to be comfortable with you even touching his mask. And you have never touched his face. But you feel an overwhelming need to now. To show him that you love every part of him. Just as he does for you.   
You expect him to jerk away or to pull your hands away. But he doesn’t. Instead he stiffens and presses his face forward in a very visual display of trust and acceptance.   
You are swift, not giving him time to change his mind. Swiping the mask from his face, you pounce upon him again and kiss him deeply. You feel the muscles on his back ripple thru fabric as he brings his hands up to cradle your head. One of your hands grasps a fistful of fabric upon his back, while the other grips his mask white knuckle tight.   
You break the kiss to lean your forehead on his. Your eyes gaze into his own.  
“I love you, Jason.”


	11. Moon Fire Part 1

The cool kiss of night mist caresses your body as you wander thru the meadow. The wane moonlight touches your eyelids before they open to gaze upon the eerie light of this place. Shadows, long and dark stretch over the grass, elongated and strangled by the light above. Fireflies dance around like tiny forgotten fairies. You can smell water and pear flowers as well as moist soil. The air tastes like innocence. You can hear crickets and frogs and an owl screeching it’s cry in the distance.   
You feel your fists clench involuntarily as you approach the strand of trees near one side of this meadow. An uncanny shyness seeps thru your bones. Animal like. Impulsive and shameless. It is the instinctive knowledge that you are being watched. It makes the muscles between your shoulder blades twitch. It makes your stance curl inward in a nervous crouch. Your breath catches on spittle gathered near the back of your throat, setting your uvula trembling. As if you are afraid that to give in to the natural impulse to swallow……. You will be heard.   
And maybe you already are. The myriad animal sounds that had been caressing your senses a few moments ago now suddenly seem to have fallen silent. The trees seem alive. Watchful. Watching you. The pricking kiss of the dew studded blades of wild grass pepper your thighs, the motion of each hesitant step resounding with the crunching knowledge of approaching prey.   
As the reaching shadow of an errant tree branch shrouds your face, you hear a noise you’ve never heard before. A violent clicking. Unnatural. Like the bubbling growl of a drowning lion. You can hear the intonation of things clipping together to make this sound. Whatever it is, it’s very large. And very close.  
Your spine cracks with the suddenness of your movement as you drop to kneel within the grass. Your eyes, just clearing the topmost layer, scan the treeline. Looking for the source of this clicking. The flesh in your limbs spasms. As if your body cannot decide if it wants to freeze or flee. It decides on the latter. You blood feels sluggish and frozen. The whites of your eyes begin to itch. You are simply too alert to blink in the moisture they desire.  
The trees begin to sway. The breeze dances thru the branches. The vision of this is haunting and beautiful to your intensely alert brain. But the sound of it masks that other sound. The one that doesn’t belong. You feel hot fluid run down your cheek. You’re not crying. Not even close. But the dry breeze irritates your hyperfocused eyes.  
It is now that a vibrant flash catches your sight. Claws it tightly and arrests your unbroken attention. Twin flashes actually. Mechanical in nature. Star bright eyes. Coming from the upper parts of the large tree about 20 yards from where you crouch.   
You KNOW it’s toying with you, whatever it is. You KNOW it’s just deliberately shown its location to spur you to movement. To see what you shall do.   
Your body wants to run. Your very blood SCREAMS for you to flee. But instead this blatant show seems to have frozen you implacably in place. You are as a statue in this meadow. Your eyes strain to the spot where those eyes had flashed. You simply cannot comprehend. You can see individual branches, framed by moonlight and bony as hungry hands reaching for a throat. There just isn’t anything there. But you know what you saw.   
Your entire body is taught and quivering as your legs stretch to bring you upright again. Your throat systematically dries and your tongue undulates as you struggle to swallow both fear and saliva. Whatever it is, you will not show fear. You cannot know that the scent of this, as well as the scent of a fatal curiosity, is flowing from you, dancing and thrilling in the breeze, tickling the air with your palpable essence. The air is alight with the smell of YOU.   
You approach the tree in question. Your heart thunders within your chest, the sound of it so deafening that you can no longer hear anything else. Your flesh prickles with a nervous sweat, the moisture of this building and trickling down your chest, slicking your thin cotton shirt to your skin.   
Your pupils are inky pin pricks in the darkness, the whites seeming to glow in the flecks of moonlight which spark thru the branches, framing your irises like the settings of pearly jewels. Your palms ache from the intensity in which you are digging your nails in. Your nostrils flair like those of a frightened animal.   
But your face shows none of this. Your mouth is set in a grim slash. Your jaw is hard as you tilt your chin upwards in a haughty manner. Your eyes, tho wide, scan the tree with a false bravado. You set your shoulders back and stride tall. After all……. You are only prey if you show fear…….. Right?   
And then that sound again. The clicking. But now so close that you can hear an underlying growl. Savage. Yet gentle. Quiet. Yet loud, if only for the unearthly quality. Your eyes strain painfully. It sounds as if a massive beast is clicking and purring directly above you. But you see NOTHING.   
You squint your eyes. And that’s when it moves. You can’t quite see IT. Almost as if the light is shifting AROUND it. As if the light itself does not wish to SEE.   
It’s big. And humanoid. The pale moonlight shifts around its shape. It’s crouching. As if to drop upon you. The edges of your vision dip and sway as you feel your own sense of what is real go faint. This is not possible. A ghost? Some fae spirit come to take your soul away? Unrealistic. Not true. Your mind is screaming a senseless babble. Trying to reason out what cannot be reasoned.   
Still, your control cracks a bit. Your jaw drops. Your shoulders hunch in as your arms instinctively wrap themselves around your chest protectively.   
The air around your body whirs as the thing drops. It’s so FAST. You feel the vibrations in your feet as it lands behind you. Every tiny hair on your back stands on end as its very nearness, it’s massiveness, it’s presence, is quite tangible upon your wavering flesh.   
The only sounds now are your hoarse breathing mingled with the night breeze shifting thru the woodland around you. And the rolling grass in the meadow which lies behind you, entirely and utterly forgotten.  
You don’t want to turn. But you know that you must. You cannot stand here looking at the patterns of the bark on this tree forever. Yet still, your eyes squeeze shut as your body rotates. You know it is still there. You can feel the heat of it, that presence, gliding along your clothing as you turn.   
Your mind blinks to an ancient childhood memory. Swimming in a pool. Your eyes tightly closed. And secretly in awe as you could FEEL the harsh concrete walls before you swam into them. No hands. Only instinct. That is what you are feeling now. A massive wall of living flesh before you.  
You open your eyes.


	12. The Junkyard

You have no idea how you ended up here. Your wrists burn from the rope that ties them to this wire fence. You’re standing with your back to it, your hands tied firmly behind you. Your joints ache from your weight being supported this way before you push your feet into the ground to stand upright. Your head pounds. You appear to be strung up to a fence around some sort of lonely junk yard.  
And she’s looking at you. Tiffany Valentine. Your friend. Fun loving. Good natured. A little crazy maybe. But otherwise a good soul. But she doesn’t look so now. Her eyes, normally a warm chocolate, peer at you thru the darkness. The weak light of the gibbeous moon above you makes them look black and soulless. Hungry.   
She’s walking toward you. Slinking. Feline and feminine. Tapping the tip of a blade upon her fingertips. The corner of her mouth tilted upwards in a knowing half smile. Her eyes bore into yours.   
“Tiff…..” your voice wavers. Your breath hitches. “Tiff, what’s going on?”  
“Oh….. Just some fun.” Her voice is it’s typical childlike, high pitched croon, as she saunters towards you. “You like to have fun don’t you?”   
Your response is cut off as the blade is rested on your lips. That smile has never left her face. Your own face flushes as her smile deepens. Both corners of her mouth are curling now. It’s flattering on her pouty lips. She leans forward to brush her lips upon yours.   
The response your body gives is instant. Every hair upon your body stands on end as she’s already pressing those lips down your jaw line. Your breathing hitches. Your nipples tighten painfully against your shirt. Her free hand reaches up to touch your cheek, finger tips barely pressing into the flesh.   
“Tiff, I don’t understand.” Your speech is muffled on the blade.  
“Sshhhhh” the warm breath caresses the shell of your ear directly before the cool blunt tips of her teeth nibble upon your ear lobe.   
You try to turn your face away, but she slips the knife around to the opposite side of your face, the chill steel and pressure forcing your head right back to where she wants it.   
Her lips leave your skin as she draws her face away. Those eyes, black as a mid winter’s night, never leave yours, as she kneels before you, the knife trailing down your side as she does so.   
Her grip upon the hem of your pants is sure and calm. Your gaze is drawn to the weak gleam upon the blade, now pointed away from you, gripped in her fist as she uses the fingers of this same hand as well as her other hand to pull your pants over you hips and down to the ground. You’d worn looser, more comfortable pants. This seems like a mistake now.   
Your shoes are removed. The pants as well. And still her eyes never leave yours. Predatory, they bore into you with merciless intent. She COULD pull your panties down the same way, but apparently this isn’t good enough for her. Your flesh quivers and shies away from the cold steel as she slides the blade between your panties and the skin of your pubic bone. Your gaze finally breaks from hers, glued to this blade as she twists it and it slices thru your underwear.   
WIth a careless little laugh, she tosses the blade away and lifts one of your legs to set it upon her shoulder.   
Your sex quivers at the chill night air. But as she looks shamelessly upon you, it doesn’t feel so cold.   
“Mmmmmmm look at your pretty pussy.” Your face burns as you feel her warm breath.  
“Tiff, please don’t do this. Please.” Even as you say this your body betrays your words. Your hips thrust helplessly forward to meet her.   
Her chin bumps your pelvic bone at first and she chuckles. Then her lips brush your slit. And your bones go molten. Your mind simply doesn’t register reality any more. You can only feel.  
The night air, cool and laced with the moisture of early morning dew. The bite and sting of your wrists crushed against the metal of the fence behind you. The smooth silky feel of her shirt upon the skin of your leg. And her lips, hot as molten copper, brushing your pussy, her tongue snaking in to experimentally nudge your clit.   
Brushing along either side of it, the fingers of one of her delicate hands coming up to part your folds, her tongue is fluid. She’s being oddly gentle, lapping around the body of your clit rather than attacking the sensitive bud directly.   
A strange sound registers itself to you and you realize that you’re panting. Loud, Practically wheezing. Your mind fuzzily grasps how hilarious you must look right now. Your head thrown back, your gaze hazy and unfocused upon the shallow scallop of a moon. Here you are, strung to a fence, your shirt askew, your shorn panties fluttering around your waist like some freakish floral printed belt, your socks,still upon your feet, like white beacons in the night. Your stance shameless and bowed as you blindly thrust into her touch.   
And the very idea of this, combined with her merciless tongue, is your undoing. The noises of the wildlife die away as you cry out in orgasm.   
Your knees quiver, weaken, and fail, as she releases your leg. Only the biting pain in your wrists from your full weight on the rope compel you to stand again.   
She’s gazing up at you, smug, and oh so dangerous, her eyes still black as deep space, her cheeks and chin glazed with your cum. You blush in an odd combination of renewed arousal and shame and turn your face away.   
“Look at me, Y/N. Don’t you dare look away from me.” Her voice is cold and compelling. Your eyes return to her face.  
“We’re NOT done, Y/N. Not by a LONG shot.”


	13. Sleep Paralysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr request for the clown

Pain rips thru your chest. You cannot breathe. Your nails burn across your chest as the nails upon them dig thru the flesh there. Something is squeezing, a weight. Too heavy. Your ribs feel as if they are being crushed.   
Your head rocks forward. Are you dreaming…… or drowning……. All is groggy nothingness. You open your eyes.   
It is indeed drowning. Your glassy eyes watch the weight of countless tons of murky blue water press upon you. The ocean perhaps. And above you, floating in alien grace, an aquatic nightmare. All fins and fangs and opalescent eyes.   
Bubbles foam from It’s mouth as It descends. Bony unnatural joints prickling It’s skin as It tips It’s jaws towards you. Perhaps to rend your ribs from their fleshy entombment.   
It cannot be. You squeeze your eyes closed. Taste blood as your teeth pierce your inner cheek. No. The thrumming terror raises the fever in your blood to fever pitch.   
But you cannot resist. The instinctive need to see the threat before you overpowers even your own natural fear. Your eyes sting from the sweat dribbling into them as they open again.  
Fire. All is fire. You can smell flesh burning. Like some hellish barbecue. You scream in your mind that it isn’t human. It isn’t human.  
You can hear screams of agony. So many and so strong that it blends into one concerted voice of pain.   
And there It is. The same creature descending upon you. The same bony odd joints in places there should not logically be joints. No fins this time. Just a bony monster of ash and flame. A tongue, dripping melted flesh and acid blood, runs along It’s rows of razor teeth. It looks so hungry.  
The heated flesh of your forearm presses into your orbital bones as you press it in. No. NO.   
But you are a hapless puppet to this farce. This macabre dance of horror. You open your eyes yet again, knowing full well that you do not wish to see. But helpless to your own dreaming whim.   
Darkness now. Damp. The dank stink of the grave. You can feel the worms wriggling upon your skin. But what is worse…… it is so dark that you cannot see the thing you KNOW is descending upon you. You KNOW It is there. You just cant SEE It.   
Tears scald your temples as they flow from your stinging eyes. You can feel the dribble of soil upon your cheeks and the burn from it entering your vision.   
And fear. Rancid bitter fear. Loneliness too. There is nothing and no one here. Save that thing. That beast which descends both in your mind and here in this darkness. No one to help you.   
“Sssshhhhhh"   
The sound is oddly gentle. Yet still frightening. It is inhuman, raspy, as the sound of paper being rolled across gravel.   
“Such beautiful fear. Tasty. Look at you…… doing all the work.” The following laughter is dry and brittle as ancient bones.   
More tears flow, yet you reach upward. Afterall…… if this monster is to kill you……. It is still HERE. Still the most solid thing you can grasp. And somehow……. All the pain you feel now…… does not compare to the veritable agony of being alone in this cacophony of noise and illusion.  
You can feel the confusion of the beast as It sinks into your embrace. You wait….. oddly patient….. for It’s death blow. You throw your head back. Bare your neck. Arch your back. Expose your vitals. You want this OVER. Your emotional cortex is simply too weary to continue.  
Something sticky and wet dribbles upon your chest. Saliva. You don’t know how you know what it is. But you do.   
You can feel It’s snout press against your jugular vein. Like the lipless jaw of a canine skull. And the reek of old death assails your nostrils. Not the pungent gag of bloat, but the dusty cough of mummified remains. And……. Popcorn?   
Reality shifts as hints of this pour thru. Circus noises. Elephants. Cheering. Whistles. Circus scents. Cotton candy. Candied apples. And yes, buttery popcorn. Even the dry feel of summer air. All a reverberating echo inside this damp cold tomb you are within. A mockery of childhood awe and joy.  
It is all dark. You cant SEE.   
But….. there is no longer fear. And the thing is puzzled as it shuffles into your neck.   
“What is this? Where has it gone?” A long tongue slithers out to run along your jaw line.   
You feel several things at once. Your hair follicles prickle at the dampness of the underground. A silken chest presses against your defensive palms. Weight settles upon your body. The thing is with you now. And….. shame. Shame as your body ignites to this stimulus. Heat coils in your abdomen at this presence.   
It inhales deeply, It’s breath chill upon your neck, before freezing. And now you are pinned beneath a silk lined statue of marble.   
But you know……. You are aroused…… even if against your will…….. and It can clearly smell this.   
Some insipid spirit of rebellion grabs you then. Boldly, you reach up. The silk upon It’s chest feels cool underneath of your fingertips. But you do not stop. Your hands venture upward. You wish to feel the face of your killer.   
You gasped as your hands make contact. Its face isn’t the skeletal maw you had felt upon your neck. It’s…….. It feels…….. HUMAN.   
It is still motionless, almost in shock, as you trace It’s features, before a low and very much inhuman growl begins to bubble from It’s chest. It’s entire body vibrates from this.   
You can see It’s face then. You don’t know what the light source is, or even where it is coming from. But you can see It now.   
It’s a clown! But not like any you’ve seen before.  
Clowns are supposed to be silly. To tickle a child’s learning mind. But this one sure isnt silly. In fact…….. It’s …….. scary and…….. oddly beautiful. Predatory. The lines cutting thru his eyes wrinkle before they touch his full lips. He looks very angry. His vermilion irises bore into yours. You aren’t behaving in the way he’s expected. And he’s very obviously NOT pleased about this.   
You don’t have much time to fully register this before his angry expression melts into a leering one.   
“Oh? Not fear? Silly thing. Silly girl.” It laughs almost merrily, Its bells tinkling. You can feel one of those bells bite coldly into your belly as he presses his weight into you. “Oh, but I can fix that.”  
You know this statement should receive just that sentiment. Fear. But it doesn’t. Your thighs relax to allow It even closer.   
A dark chuckle rumbles from It’s chest.  
“So THAT is what you’re thinking of? Well……. You pathetic bags of meat are all the same, aren’t you?” It pushes It’s hips forward into yours. You can feel something beneath the silk of his trousers. It’s stiff and…… wriggling. Not human. Not at all. But your body doesn’t give a single fig. Your throat wheezes as you let out a strangled groan.   
“Be still……” This is clearly a warning. “It’d be a shame to break the toy before it’s been played with.” A snorting giggle erupts from It’s lips as you feel one of It’s massive hands snake into the hair on the back of your head to grasp almost painfully. Your scalp burns at the tension.   
You feel something pressing against your slit. It’s cool and wet. You want this tho…. Whatever this is. It could end you right here and now and you wouldn’t even care. Your body relaxes and your hips angle for better access.  
“Please…….” Your whimper breaks into the noise of It’s silken costume.  
Your helpless plea seems to have more of an effect than It would have liked. It snarls as Its hips buck forward, driving It’s inhuman cock into you.   
It’s next words shear thru the haze of pleasure surrounding your body.  
“Oh….. I’m afraid I’m going to break you after all, my sweet little girl.”


End file.
